Where Is Love?
Here I am, at 1:15am, alone, in my apartment, feverishly typing. I am on reading deprivation week this week in The Artist’s Way. I’m not sure if I’ve conveyed what a bibliophile I am accurately through this blog, but let’s just say that Times Square at rush hour is no match for a good book in my hands. Reading deprivation is supposed to allow you to spend time doing other activities.
So tonight when I got home, I sat on my couch and simply thought. And still in my apartment, still alone, it occurred to me how truly and deeply I am loved. I had this feeling, and at first I thought it was sadness or loneliness. It turned out to be a wave of emotion, but of a totally different kind.
I wish we had all the Greek words to describe the different kinds of love, so that we didn’t have to limit ourselves to such a narrow view.
Love is your mother texting you twice a day when you are sick to see how you’re feeling. It’s your sister sending you a picture of your niece every day without fail because you miss her so much. Love is the friend who finds it imperative one day to tell you that he or she is proud of you, or loves you for exactly who you are. Love is remembering a birthday- or love is forgetting a birthday completely but remembering an audition or an interview, and asking how it went. Love is calling a friend when she needs someone to talk to, even before she knows to ask for you to call. Love is a hug to say goodbye. It’s a kiss blown through the air, a mouthed “I love you,” or a momentary squeezing of hands. Love is showing up when you’re least expected, when it might be easier to stay at home.
My life has no fake air kisses, no false “I love you’s.” I am so fortunate to be surrounded by genuine, tender, kind, affectionate souls. The depth and breadth of it floors me. And at 1:15am, alone in my apartment, under circumstances which could be construed as lonely and sad, I find only tears of gratitude and joy.