Love

Cautious Winds

used under Creative Commons License via Hugh McLeod

I’ve studied love.

As I’ve mentioned in past posts, I’m well versed in the experts: Watts, Buscaglia, Beck, Bach, Sappho, cummings, Hardy, Conroy, Paul (the Apostle, not McCartney, but him, too), Lao-Tse, Winterson, Tarantino, Jones, Green, Shakespeare, Huber, Heinlein, Robinson, Solomon, ChuangTse, Marlowe, Basho, Augustine, Johnson (Robert & Jack), Geils, Williams (Robin & Mollena), Von Bingen, the Carpenters (Karen & Jesus), and many, many more.

It’s one of my favorite subjects, in all its forms, from patriotism to patriarchism to passion parties.

I’ve been in more kinds of relationships that have involved the word “love” than I ever imagined possible. I’ve had times when I’ve shaped my entire identity around the concept of love – both embracing the concept and dedicating myself to its avoidance.

This means I can talk “love” all day, all night, in all kinds of ways. It doesn’t, however, mean that I think I understand the first thing about it.

Which is why, I think, as I find myself entering into a Big Change in circumstances with the people I love, I find myself taking care. Trying to check in (but not too much, because that gets annoying) and be connected (but not too much, because that seems needy) and give space (but not too much, because we want to be connected) and basically doing my best not to make any of the same mistakes I’ve made in the past.

That last part should be easy. I’m entirely confident in my ability to find entirely new mistakes.

Mainly, though, I am endeavoring to simply be present. To not worry about what might happen, what might not happen, what people might think or not think or how change happens. Rather than worry about possibilities, I’m working to enjoy what is happening.

Come, my friends, ‘Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.

–Tennyson, Ulysses

Some part of love has always been flinging caution to the winds. I turn my face to the breeze, and trust what is there to be enough.

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