T-to-the-A

Love or not?

In Essays on August 1, 2009 at 9:39 pm

I was having a conversation a few days ago with a dear friend when I shocked both of us by uttering this sentence “I don’t really believe in Love anymore.”  She looked at me askance, “But… you’re an artist!” and I thought to myself, well, maybe that’s why.  Living in a world where you are surrounded by people swayed primarily by their own fickle hearts… well, being an artist may be a recipe for romance for some, but from these wizened eyes it’s apparently become a party to pessimism.

It seems that everywhere I look there are “Happily Ever After” endings penciled into the margins – but not a whole lot of them walking around on the streets.  I’m thirty years old and I haven’t had a whole lot of luck with it myself.  It seems everytime I fall in love, I end up falling on my face.  Sooner or later, you’ve got to stop trusting the romance genie, right?

But what does it mean, to have lost faith in love…  I mean, I know it can work.  I know that there are people out there very well suited to one another and partnered up in opposition to the forces that would tear them apart.  I know that many, many people find happiness in their match – I just don’t believe that it’s destined, or gauranteed, or that Love necessarily “Comes along at the right time.”  Rather, it seems to me that the whole thing is really just a crap shoot, and you either get lucky in love or you don’t.

There isn’t any grand “Counter of Hearts” out there portioning love and heartache… there no such cosmic calculator waiting for you to hit “The right place” in your life for a mate…  and if there ever was a Cupid , he gave up a long time ago trying to help us flawed and ego-ridden humans make sense of one another.

But maybe that’s the heart of this whole thing… not that I’ve lost faith in Love, but in our ability to manage it.  For it seems that more than ever we are making a mess of love…  That it’s turned into some sort of soupy disaster, packaged, stamped and nuked in our microwave worlds.

Perhaps I’m not giving up on the gift, but in our ability to deliver it without tearing the wrapping paper, dropping it down the stairs and kicking it at our “beloved’s” nose.

Hmmm.

Maybe it’s not Love who’s to blame, but us who have disappointed Love.

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