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I make no bones about knowing what love is. Sure, if you look at my track record I should have a fair amount of insight - having given my heart fully and completely at one time or another to four separate men. And yet the older I get, the less I realize I know - because no matter how authentic my feelings have been, no matter how deep the love or affection we've shared - it all comes short of the understanding of love's significance that only time can bring. This is not to say that experiences while young do not encapsulate truth, it's just that time enhances this truth, gives you a deeper understanding of why such things have touched you, why you have found joy, or heart break, in the places and people that you have.

The point of this post however is not to wax poetic on the boundaries of love in time and growth, but to recognize just how thrilling it can be when you realize that with each new romance your understanding of this greatest of human emotions grows deeper. I just caught myself looking in the mirror at a certain physical feature of mine that I have long resented. I've never been someone to wallow in despair over my physical makeup - a piece of myself I have the least amount of control over in most ways - but there are definitely aspects of myself I've disliked, greatly. More than that, I've projected my own discomfort with how a certain piece of me came out on those who have given me nothing but affection and the blind desire for me, all of me, that love brings. But it is just now that I am starting to see myself through the eyes of another. Starting to let go of those intangibles I have no control over - starting to focus more on the stuff I do - the inner workings of myself that after all this time still need some tweaking. In this process, this seeing myself through the eyes of someone who loves me, I think my whole perception of love and relationships is changing. I think it comes down to this: I'm starting to believe in love again. Not that I ever gave it up, but I think I tried to fit the wrong kind of love (is there such a thing?) into my overall makeup, and thus I rarely had those moments where I could step outside of myself and see myself through the eyes of someone who was willingly giving me their heart. Whether that was my fault (as I would never blaim it on another, especially someone who I know loved me deeply) or not is neither here nor there. I just want to take this moment, this moment when the possibilities of love seem so present even though the person with whom I'm in it is so very far away, to recognize this simple fact. Love has changed me, has matured me, has broken my heart - but in the end, it is still the best feeling, the best hope, I know.








post script: As I'm sitting here spilling my guts to the blogosphere, my parents are having dinner with a friend and talking about how many people they slept with in Berkeley in the 60's (as if it's a competition). Holy shiz-net. T.f'in M.I.!