cariño
If I said this is my second blog post, I'd be lying, because while this will most probably be the second once I publish, it is not the second one I have written. Technically speaking, this would be my third blog post, but you can't read what I haven't published, and since you can't do anything else but believe me when I say this is my second blog post, I can now proceed with my entry!
(In the tone of the Barefoot Contessa, "How fabulous is that?")
I shouldn't even be writing this because the thing I'm supposed to be writing about is myself and my aspirations, where my words and tone are directed at convincing a committee of people who don't know me to allow me to work for them. After all, I am just a girl who wants to learn more, and that (along with intense mental breakdowns) is one of the prices to pay to achieve higher education. The thing is, I do feel like writing, but not about myself —at least not in that way, no. I want to write about love, as cheesy as that sounds.
I am enamoured, and like all the great poets, writers, and lovers before me, I must sit down to write about it because there is sometimes so much love within myself that I am surprised by the vast majority of its nature. I don't see myself as a lover, despite this. I am not enamored of most aspects of my life, nor am I stuck seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. However, there's something to be said about the love within and the one that is found all around us.
A very wise woman once said in an article that she hopes love is never absent from her life, even in the absence of everything else. I always thought hope was the last thing to be lost, but I see now how wrong I was; it's love that's the last thing one loses. While my optimistic logic was right, it overlooked the fact that hope is one of the things created by love; it doesn't exist in a place without it. I think that love is sometimes what keeps us going, whether that's the love of the game, of your job, your pets, your friends, your partner, or yourself; I think even if you don't know what gets you out of bed (which is very valid), there is most times, an external force that gets you going.
I think for most of our lives, we're constantly falling in and out of love with so many things, such as people, ideas, careers, choices, lifestyles, colors, books, movies, etc, it gets to the point where living becomes an endless cycle of falling in and out of love with life itself. As someone who spent years (and will probably spend some more) chasing anything that gave me purpose, I now see that I have also, over the years, chased after love. I think it's human nature to crave it, to spend years yearning, idealizing, and wanting it so badly that it hurts. Sadly, chasing after love often ends up not being what you thought it would be once you have it.
If searching for love often ends up in disappointment, why even bother to chase it? And I don't only mean romantic love; I mean love in itself, as a concept, as the thing that so many people crave because they think it's going to fix them, or fill a void. I'm quite aware that this sounds harsh, and I don't mean to imply that everyone who goes out looking for love is seeking it to fix them. The feeling of its absence in some (or many) ways is enough to lead to a wild goose chase, and I know a thing or two about that, believe me!
After countless times of chasing love only to receive what I wasn't expecting, I shut down my wild goose chase, instead questioning my need to hunt something so abstract. If I didn't know what I was looking for, how could I know when I had found it? It is bittersweet to look back and think about how, at one point, I had what I was looking for but not what I wanted, and vice versa. Instead of entertaining a hunt that always led me back to myself, why not find the love I was looking for inside the place that craved it so badly?
And so I did.
I learned to romanticize my life and my friends, and, most importantly, I fell back in love with myself. After years of tearing myself up and picking up the pieces, I started to see what others saw in me. And in that reconnection, I learned how to be my own partner. This extended to my friends as well, where I poured out the same love I was pouring into myself, sometimes receiving it, and sometimes not. Although not the most enjoyable process, it gave me a much-needed perspective.
I tell you all of this to bring you to my final point —love does not come to you when you chase it mindlessly. It arrives by pure luck or coincidence, when you are least expecting it, and most importantly, when you are not looking for it.
I believe my previous statement applies not only to romantic love but also to all facets and aspects of love. Sometimes, meaningful connections form in the places and with the people where we least expect them. As I said before, we fall in love, again and again, whether that's with our job, our lifestyle, or with life itself.
What I'm about to say is presumably very stupid, and I know you've most probably read it or heard it. In addition to not chasing love mindlessly, you must be open to receiving it. And I want to make it clear that I don't mean putting yourself out there or whatever; I mean being open to change, having the willingness to learn and accept your mistakes, and doing your best to stand by yourself and by what that love is being poured into, whoever or whatever that may look like.
Once it's in our lives, love takes an infinite number of shapes and assumes endless roles. It's an ally, an enemy, a friend, a force, a god, a void; it is the point of why we exist. As we go through life, we eventually stop falling into love and start growing into it; we begin to choose it, no matter the odds. It's magnetic, the feeling that comes with being open to love; it's almost as if it were a direct application of Newton's First Law, where love is the object that's drawn to our center of mass, rather than us aimlessly orbiting around it.
After re-reading what I have previously written, I question why I said I was not a lover. Yet, I proceeded to write about how love is present in everything, but most importantly, it's the one we have within ourselves, the force that prevails above all. At my core, I am not a lover, but rather an extremely hopeful being who believes that things will turn out in the end. Is my delusionally optimistic point of view driven by the love I have for the people and aspects of my life? Maybe. I also wonder if it's just me wanting to share all the love I don't pour into myself to others, so that they, too, can feel an external force that helps them keep going.
After many years of being that external force for myself, I find relief knowing that I can thrive in its absence. I am most of the time not kind to myself and very harsh, which can lead to moments where I don't feel that magnetic pull from the love I know is around me, and within myself. This usually leads to moments when I seek love externally, looking for places or people who feel like home. I am grateful and fortunate to have that, whether it's through texts, calls, or simply being in the same space; my friends and partner remind me of how love keeps us connected, no matter what.
I don't expect this article to make much sense or be relatable, but I hope it gives some perspective. Over the years, love has dictated how I choose (and don't choose) to live my life, which is why I believe it is one of the forces beyond us, the ones that silently pull strings and lead us to a variety of outcomes. Although I'm not a lover, I do believe in choosing love and always giving it forward, no matter what.