Love Fool

Everyone who writes has to touch on the topic of love at least once, if not several dozen times. Whether it's in your diary/journal or in some sort of public forum, it's one of the main driving forces for a lot of people; it's a mix of pleasure and pain that almost all can relate to, even though that tumultuous sensation can never really be captured with words.  I know I've tried it in the past, to tackle the topic of love, and, lo and behold, the question of what exactly it is has popped into my head once again.

Firstly, I'm a hopeless romantic, always have been.  Few (very few) have been privy to it, but it's always been a part of who I am.  As far back as I can remember I devoured books (not the cheesy, sleazy kind but the fantasy adventure kind) saturated with all sorts of exotic romantic aspects; became lost in movie upon movie; even got a little too attached to lot of video game stories; each were rich with their own unique characters and romances. Based off all that, I designed my dream girl in my head, the one who would fulfill the fantasy.  I always forgot though, that it was never instant in the books, movies, and games, it always took work.  It took a fear, a vulnerability, a chance that one or both characters needed to take for it to become something, for it to last.  You didn't just walk into a dungeon and walk out with the princess.  We, or maybe it's just I, forget that in real life.  It's easy to get discouraged when things get hard, when your feelings are on the line, when you keep thinking there's so much else out there that you'll find that person who'll fit the fantasy without any trouble, that there's someone out there it'll "just work" with.  Yet at the same time, when nothing is at risk, when it's easy, when nothing has the potential to rip you out of your comfort zone and break you down, to make you look yourself in the mirror and reevaluate yourself, your life, your everything, is it really worth it?

To be in real, unabashed love is to bet it all on a chance and walk away a millionaire, so to speak.  It's the greatest feeling in the world; but then there's the out of comfort love, the love you hold onto after it's been loooooong gone or after your significant other did something reprehensible like cheat on, or steal from, you, yet you let them stick around; it's like throwing down a buck and walking away with two; it doesn't really do that much for you, does it?  The risk is gone because you already know they can and will hurt you, therefore the payoff is going to be minimal at best, and just enough to get by, and that's not fair to anyone.

The best way I've ever heard love described was recently, by one of my favorite writers Jamie Varon.  In her article "How To Keep Loving Someone" she said that "Love is being acutely aware of how quickly someone can ruin you."  Let me just say that that line was like a sucker punch to the gut. In one second my entire perfect world view of what love is was changed.

It wasn't a bad change, and I don't mean to be dramatic, but the change was significant.  It made so much sense. It made me realize the integral flaw in what my fantasy was: there lacked a looming possibility of it not working flawlessly, it was too perfect. There was no fear of letting go of any inhibition for the sake of someone else before yourself, it was a magic thing that just happened.  I thought of it as an instant connection that never faded, that never needed to be tweaked and analyzed.  The reality of love was nowhere near that, that was only a fantasy, and nothing else.  For the first time I thought about it more realistically.  I resolved that maybe love is the syncing of two people's most internal selves with each other where both are willing to risk that the other person could, at any moment, choose to back out. That maybe you needed to focus on yourself as much as the both of you to make it truly work.  That maybe to be one with another, you had to be one with yourself.  The funny thing is, I've heard it all before and paid it no mind, until I realized it was affecting my own relationships and well being.

I had a bad habit of putting my life on hold when getting involved with someone I ended up deeply caring about, trying to fit into my own derived theory of love.  I would go out of my way and bend over backwards to the point where I wasn't myself anymore, and a resentment would begin to build.  It happened again recently, but with this one, she called me out on it.  She's a smart one, this one; a keeper if you will.  Long story short we took some time to work on things, which is when I came to this conclusion.  In the time we took, I regained myself.  Not so much the bachelor lifestyle I was living prior to her, but the doing things for myself life style that I needed to keep sane, that I sacrificed because I thought it would make her life easier not worrying about me and the things I was involving myself in (don't get me wrong, there are still plenty of things I don't do because they just aren't conducive to being in a trusting relationship, but I'm better for not doing them anyway). I started staying home all the time, which is NOT good for me, but that's another story, and not doing things I would normally do.  That doesn't mean hooking up with other women, but eliminating any possibility to even be put in such a position, which in turn, eliminated quite a bit, but I okay'd it in my head because that's what love is, right?  Listen, I'm a big boy, I've never cheated and never would no matter what the temptation, but in my head I just thought that's what you're supposed to do in a relationship, all the while realizing, but discounting, that that shot my personal life to shit, and left me going stir crazy, only getting out momentarily at times too few and far between.  I felt myself dying on the inside and subsequently damaging what we had, which is far from my fantasy, so how the hell did it fit?  Sure there were other things on my end as well as hers, but this was my biggest issue, the thing I needed to figure out in order to get my head screwed on straight, to be me again.  And I'm happy to say I'm back, and we're rebuilding with the right foot forward this time.

The "finding of oneself" is a sappy, melodramatic, nauseating thing and I always hated hearing it, but I guess I did it; I had to.  At the chance of losing something amazing, I really buckled down, stopped being an asshole, and thought about things without my rose colored glasses.  After that was accomplished, though, I still kept thinking about what love is since it almost seemed brand new; like I was getting a second chance and I didn't want to fuck it up. The first thing that clicked was the reason why I held on so hard to my fantasy; because it worked before...in high school.  You remember high school, the first love, the puppy dog phase, where you had your kids names picked out ten minutes after the first kiss.  Also, that was the reason why that relationship ultimately failed: because the fantasy stuck.  There was little to no evolution of the relationship, of the love, it was quite the opposite, it broke things down.  It wasn't terrible, but over time it wasn't what it used to be, it was just comfort because we were both scared to be on our own after almost four years, and although the relationship didn't change, we, as people, definitely did. So I spent the next five years loveless, not searching, just playing, never giving it much thought, until recently, and here I sit.

Being older, wiser (debatable) it's plain as day now; how love undoubtedly changes with time, maturity, circumstance. How love is different from one to the next.  That I love the girl I'm with in the same capacity as always, but differently than others, with a different intensity, because she's different and so am I since my last foray into the amour.  All that being said, I really cant answer the question of what love is, because there is no one answer.  And since there really isn't a textbook definition of love, how can you really put it into words?

A Jeep, A Beard, and An Idea

One of the big issues (that I'm willing to discuss on here) this year for me was my car accident. I was driving to work on Valentines Day during a blizzard when Mother Nature, the dried up old bag that she is, decided to give me my present.  With the unwavering help of one of the competent state workers, she dumped about 100 pounds of slush off an overpass onto the parkway in which I was traveling, on a turn, 20 feet in front of me, with a car passing me on the left.  The lack of friction on the road allowed my tiny little Civic to fulfill its life long dream of being in Circ de Sole (spelling?) despite my best efforts for it not to.  Using the slush as a launching pad I was sent flying into the median then back across the parkway as my car attempted to do a cartwheel in mid air.  Thankfully the exit sign caught my trunk and stopped me from flipping off the highway into the woods; instead it threw the car back down into the road on its front end before tilting back and landing on its wheels, finally coming to its graceful stop facing oncoming traffic in a two lane parkway.  After a few minutes of fielding questions from my audience of teary eyed witnesses who thought I was going to die in front of them, I scooped up the biggest pieces of my car, threw them in my trunk (which was conveniently thrown open for me) and actually managed to get my car off the parkway and two more blocks to work before it died on me.  Yes, I was two blocks away on a 40 minute commute.

Long story short I got it fixed but the insurance screwed me and even though they said "she was good as new" I think "she drives like she's got Parkinson's Disease" was more accurate.  But perfect excuse to get a new car.  In comes my new Jeep Cherokee.  I love this car like I had birthed it myself.  It's my first new car and although I'm paying out the ass for it, it's gonna get me through any more bullshit Mother Nature has up her sleeve, and more importantly it's gonna get me to Colorado.

The title of this post is a little misleading, and for this I apologize.  It leads you, the reader, and if you are seeing impaired or illiterate than you, the listener, to believe that there were in fact three main points to this post; being a beard, Jeep, and an idea.  Well the fact is there is only two, and aside from my Jeep story the other part is that I had an idea to grow a beard hence the two being one in the same.  Now that that has been cleared up, I got this idea because about a month ago because I was feeling particularly crappy about a situation and had a case of the fuck-its when shaving came up   Also about one third of my face missed the puberty memo so a five o'clock shadow takes about a four days to form and has more gaps than a hillbilly's smile.  But when the fuck-its are involved, you aren't really thinking that you look like a homeless man-child, and when anyone asked me I just responded with "I'm trying to grow a beard."  Truth is I was trying just to not do much of anything.

One thing lead to another and when I finally felt like the itching was too much, even for the fuck-its, I went to shave and actually looked in the mirror for more than two seconds.  To my amazement my facial hair was getting long enough that it actually covered my patches and I went from looking like a homeless man-child to just a run of the mill homeless man!  I was quite impressed with my faces ability to overcome its own shortcomings by sheer will; it was like each individual hair knew what direction to grow in in order get some real teamwork going on.  YAY TEAM!  So my shave session turned into a trim session where I got rid of all those rebel hairs that were too cool to get with the program.  It was something I had never done before, I felt very manly and I wanted to make sure you all knew about it; and now you do.

Thus the idea to continue to grow my beard was born and I know you're all glad you read this and are rooting for me to grow the best beard in the goddamn world, and I will.  If all the things I learned from somewhere are correct then manly things will help my beard be even better, and what better way to man it up then by going on a road trip with a tent and no plans other than to not die.  By the time I get back I might be donating beard hair to cloth orphans in Brazil.  Damn I'm pumped for this shit.  OK that's it for now, I'm gonna go eat a rare steak and and hold open a door for some ladies BECAUSE REAL MEN KNOW CHIVALRY AND SHIT.  I can feel my face tingling already, chivalry is like miracle grow for beards.  You hear that fellas?