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That said, I hate love stories. Human beings have such a terrible need to understand, to make sense out of the raucous biological rhythms of our hearts, that we tend to neaten the whole thing. We cram everything from sex to selflessness under the heading of those four daunting letters and then proceed to package it all up. More songs, poems, stories and advertisements address themselves to the auspices of love than to any other subject. All because of our desperation to share experience with each other as we peer around for a reflection of our own perception, sanity, and very existence. So we strive to communicate, throwing ourselves bare, hoping to be seen, trying to see. We measure our humanity by our ability to make a change in others and by how fully we allow ourselves to grow - in other words, how well we love. But love requires a great deal of honesty with ourselves and openness to others...and, therefore, courage. It carries pain when those we trust and care for leave, hurt themselves, or simply refuse to return the favor. Why is it worth it? Why suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune instead of taking up arms against a sea of troubles? Because sharing our lives with other scared, flawed, struggling, beautiful beings forces us to keep making ourselves better people. Because love is not a result but a process. Because Romeo exists without Juliet and Desdemona without Othello. Because the strongest choice we can make is to keep choosing. |
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