On Love

April 27, 2017




The other night, as I am wont to do when mad ideas fill my head, I couldn't sleep.

I paced. I "cleaned". I read. I wrote.

I thought about work. I thought about ideas.

Work,

ideas,

Work.

Then I thought about love.

I thought about my family.

My tribe comprises of 7+ kooky trailblazers who have loved and been loved since the day they were born. No questions asked.

We laugh, we cry, we hurt, we love. We repeat.

In fact, if I had to sum up love after all these year of living it would be just that: "No questions asked. We laugh, we cry, we hurt, we love. We repeat."

Because when I've tried to ask questions, when I have tried to control, when I have tried to "laugh, cry, oh-this-is-too-hard, oh-this-isn't-who-I-think-you-should-be, oh-what-the-h-are-you-doing-with-your-life, or why-isn't-my-love-changing-you-into-who-I-need, repeat" I have never created much love.

I created, instead, a desperate and wanting delusion.

Because, in reality, we don't have much say in love.

And that terrifies us.

Terrifies us to the point that we turn love into something it is not: forced, fixed, conditional.

We put rules on love, we require guarantees of love, and we define and confine love until we've lost it altogether.

We crave love so desperately, yet we want it to show up on our short-sighted terms.

So much have I wasted on love-as-it-should-be.

But we can do better.

We can love better,

ourselves,

others.

And for whatever reason, the other night, alone and unable to sleep, family on my mind,

I felt it.

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