Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Thursday, April 16, 2009

On Love, In Sadness

Let me tell you about this world we live in. We live in a world so unabashedly complex that it dillutes our concept of what is important. It infects us with a mental sickness so pervasive and so potent that we become lost in the spectrum of our own emotions to the point that we are somehow completely unable to identify what makes us happy. We become fooled, tricked into believing that there are things more important than happiness and forget completely the simple notion that feeling happy in any given moment makes the moment a bright one. We overcomplicate the emotion, overthinking what it really is without realizing that happiness is far and away one of the easiest sensations to identify. It is easy to be happy in the short-term, and most people haven’t forgotten that, but the moment someone began to purport the unrealistic assertion that such a thing could be perpetuated forever—or for any extended length of time, really—the once-simple emotion took on two very different definitions and the human psyche has never recovered.

This is because the world is populated by cowards. People who are afraid to take a chance. People who don’t know what is good for them because they’re confused about what happiness is. They get so lost trying to “figure out” life as though it’s possible and would rather waste their years in the familiarity of their own solitary emotional disarray than take a chance, intimidated by the fact that it just might work. I know what it’s like to live that way, and you can do it, but you’ll end up learning the same simple lesson I did in a needlessly difficult way: happiness feeds off of happiness.

If you, as an unhappy person, find yourself surrounded by other unhappy people all the time, you will be fighting a losing battle and getting more and more confused about what it takes to be happy every single day. It is a miserable climb full of rose-coloured deception and trickery—peaks and valleys like you wouldn’t believe. Like nobody would believe, until it happens to you. This isn’t the fault of the people you hang around with, mind you—they are your friends and they are your friends for a reason. If they all happened to be unhappy, it’s not your fault, but it won’t do you any good either. Which is generally why people make new friends, I guess.

You have to take responsibility for what makes you happy and recognize what an important role the other people in your life play in understanding that. You have to recognize that you make friends with people because they make you happy and you make them happy—that’s the unwritten rule that all friends understand. Most importantly, though, you have to recognize that when the friends that you care about are hurt, you must remember that you have the power to make them happier and that in doing so, you too will feel better and your lives as friends will carry on.

Love is the simplest form of happiness because you are free to exchange any obligations or responsibilities for a sincere conversation. It provides you with an emotional safety cushion unlike any other and is priceless in value because it does not waver in the torrential winds of the rest of your life. Always, you have someone who will hold you when you’re broken down and tired. Always, you have someone who wants to be with you when it seems like nobody else is. Always, you have someone who actually cares about you, will hold your hand, not be afraid to touch your face and will tell you that everything is going to be okay, even when it’s not. The only people who seem to understand how much that’s worth never have anything to say about it. I guess that’s because you don’t realize it until you really are broken down and you really are hurt, but when you reach out for the hand you need to hold, it’s not there.

In conversation, it’s easy to explain how important “the little things” in life are. All you have to do is make a vague reference to something everyone enjoys, like popping bubble wrap, and then follow it up with a question like, “are these and other little quirks about life important to you?” No doubt, when you frame it that way, they sound pretty important and most people are likely to agree. Rarely though do we really consider what life would be like when some of those things are actually gone until they finally disappear. A cliché that has been beaten to death by its sheer durability—its absolute unwillingness to die. A cliché about appreciating what you have whose lesson we never learn despite widespread acknowledgment of it as truth.

In love, a million clichés all come true at once and require no explanation. Out of love, a million different clichés all come true at once, but we reject them because we believe our own circumstance to be unique and somehow exempt from universal rationale. Well, you’re not special. Don’t think you can justify your actions based on your circumstance. You can’t fool me, happy couple—you can tell me that you’ve found your true love all you want, but I’ll know it’s bullshit. I’ll know that it’s not your “true” love because no such thing exists—I’ll know that what you found was love and good for you, but I know that love exists everywhere for those brave enough to grab it. So, you’re not special—you’re just wildly disconnected from the millions of embittered single cowards in the real world where love is a scavenger hunt and not a lifestyle. And I envy you.

I envy you, but I’m not fooled by you and for that reason, I wish that you would see cause to envy me and what I’ve learned. Then maybe you, happy couple, would understand what you have and how hard some people will fight to get it. Then maybe you’ll stop and think before making a big problem out of a trivial one. Maybe you’d think a little harder and remember why you love them when you look into their eyes. And maybe every time that you’d hold them, you’d do it as though you may never hold them again. As everyone should.

Finding love should radically change your life expectations. It should be a trump card that feeds the other forces in your life, not a byproduct thereof. Obviously, it doesn’t change your life instantly, but it definitely changes your plans and goals and inspires you to fulfill them at any cost. Because you know it will be worth it. If you do not understand this about love, you do not know what it is. If you reject the chance to find love, you are a fool.
However, if you lived lonely, confused and unhappy, but then found love, understood it, understood what it means to be happy, lived happily for so long that it becomes natural, then have it taken away suddenly, without explanation, spent years mortified as to what and why this happened, finally getting the chance to resolve it, coming to terms with what happened, then finding out that the “resolution” was really just another unexplained “fuck you”, dwindling into a pathetic lifestyle of perpetual loneliness, finding no one to blame including oneself, but punishing oneself anyway for lack of any other reasonable conclusion, then walking around every day for years feeling so alone that every step is a heavy, sluggish waste of time, nobody wants to hang out with you, not a girl in the world will so much as bat an eye at you, nobody wants to hear your story and by then, you’ve told it so many times that it’s meaningless, and then suddenly, a glimmer of hope appears and you meet someone who enjoys spending time with you, actually phones you to make social calls after years of virtually nothing like it, then the friendship grows and the taste of love dances across the tip of your tongue, but it’s not love, it’s actually a demon in disguise that represents not love, but deception, and so you become bitterly familiar with the game as the players have chosen to play it, fucking around with heavy emotions and pleading ignorance to get away with it while you sit on the roller coaster and get driven to the top just to be thrown back down without a seatbelt, the ups and downs leave you exhausted, frustrated that the world could be so cruelly unpredictable, then you descend into the familiar state of solitary loneliness, joining all the other cowards, becoming resigned to the fact that the world is full of cowards and coming to terms with how much pain such cowardice causes, idly drawing your attention away from the insurmountable mountain that love has become in your mind, subtly dividing your efforts between an increasingly fruitless quest and the responsibilities of everyday life until love seems almost meaningless, a dream that I once had perhaps, long-forgotten, but then hurriedly brought back into focus by meeting someone that not only wanted to spent time with you, but even shares your frustration with love and the ridiculous and immature way the people in the world handle it, bypassing the social hurdles that put road blocks in the way of love for countless people, defying every bitter truth you’ve come to believe throughout the journey, clearing up the confusion that clouded your thoughts for so long, challenging you to open up, and finally you don’t have to worry about what happened in the past and you don’t have to worry about the hopelessness of the future, because finally everything seems to make sense, and finally you’ve found love, it has found you, and in doing so, it has made the most confusing and challenging thing in the world shockingly simple and hugely rewarding, and you settle down, and its effect on how you plan to live your life begins to set in, then you too are a fool. All the sincerity in the world won’t prevent it from collapsing on you. All the trust, all the times you’ve had—even those great specific moments that seemed so amazing at the time—will not matter and you will be fucked over for doing nothing wrong. It will not make sense to you, it cannot be explained to you, but it will happen and you will be helpless and confused and once again, a fool. A fool for not seeing it sooner, a fool for believing “I love you” when you hear it, a fool for saying it and meaning it, a fool for trusting anyone at all and a fool for thinking that your story is special and that this time it wouldn’t be like all the others.

You won’t fool me again, world. Not by your watery eyes, not by your cheeky promises and not by the artificial lights shining brightly along the corridor of this endless black tunnel.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

while inefficient, vitality saves our ship

Life happens in chapters. You don't always know how long the chapter is going to be, but you read on because it is the best book you own and you can never tell for certain what's going to happen in the next few pages.


Everyone has a story that would play out splendidly in fiction--full of the realest of the real. Drama, comedy, conflict, resolution, tears, laughter, friendship, enmity, love and hate. Some people believe that there are stories from their lives that should never be told, usually to protect themselves or those they care about from those who may potentially read it. However, I think so few of these stories actually get told that it would be a privilege to be able to regale one in its entirety to someone who would listen, regardless of the kind of dirt contained within. Of course, as in the re-telling of any tale, the words are never as complete and as true as they were on the pages from whence they came--the pages that comprise the story of your life.

But is it even reasonable to draw comparisons between a paperback work of fiction and the real world? Does life really happen in chapters, or am I deluding myself in an effort to help better define my perpetually undefined life? I'm not sure the real world should be presented in vague riddles and analogous metaphors. I'm not sure people take it seriously. Some can (I know I can, at least), but more and more I get the impression that if you tried to explain a splitting headache to someone by referencing, oh say, the sensation of being a beer bottle when someone tries to open it with the hard end of a lighter instead of a proper bottle opener....well, I just think that most people would find that confusing and miss the point. When really, all you wanted was a sincere, "I know what you mean."

For a long time, I've been the only one in charge of defining things in my own head. This means that nobody but me can question whether or not what I am thinking and how I am operating is right or wrong. My friends that once played a big part in influencing the conclusions I would come to are not as disenchanted and cynical as I have become and I suppose that's a big part of the reason that they don't offer much support in trying to fix that anymore. It's hard to help someone if you've already gotten over the problems that they are having, especially if you've already given them the advice that worked for you and it ended up having no effect whatsoever (or leaving them even more depressed)--people are different, imagine that. At that point, your friend's problem is now their problem, not yours and that's when you begin to drift out of close contact on the level of emotional support.

That's what happened to me: my friends got better, I didn't and now they don't know to help me because I've been so fucked up for so long. It probably sounds like I'm coming off a little steamed about this, but I really don't hold it against anyone. Above all things, I am glad that my friends are mostly okay
and that the people I care about are NOT in my position. Sacrificing the emotional support of my friends for their emotional well-being seems like a fair trade-off to me. The bane of an altruist. A long time ago, when we were somewhat dependent on one another to find happiness, only one of us would have to succeed for me to reap the rewards. To see my friends happy was enough to make me happy and achieving that was my primary goal in life back then. Make it so that the people whom you care for find happiness, and ye shall find nirvana.

I don't know what happened then. I suppose love mucked it all up. My simple plan for finding perpetual bliss got its ass kicked by a more powerful emotion and it all became about making one person happy, even if it meant making the people you had cared for most suffer a little. The rewards of love are grand--worth more than I ever could've dreamed of achieving as hormonal roller coaster of a teenager amongst my friends. And worth the sacrifice, however selfish it may seem to devote all your care to someone else over your friends and family. I don't believe everyone finds that, but I don't want to pretend to be the expert either. I think that it is widely understood what love "is" and what it's like to be in love, but if you don't understand what a fool you would be to turn it away in favour of some personal ambition, then it has never truly been yours to behold. If you've had it and then lost it, the prospect of finding it again becomes all that you live for and the waiting becomes difficult and emotionally erosive over time. The only question that remains is how long you can survive empty and how long you can endure the burden of loneliness before you become too embittered to be loved, no matter how much you want it. Need it.
"What nourishes me also destroys me."