Thursday, February 09, 2006

Then, And Now ...

Reruns? On a blog?


I wrote this four months ago, at the beginning of November.

It is even more true today.

Love is a bitch.

I was just sitting here, thinking, "I really should write a blog entry," and then that sentence popped into my head. Maybe it's because I just watched "Everwood," which is about nothing but relationships. Treat Williams' character, Andy, is in love with his neighbor, Nina, but Nina is living with Jake.

Of course, anyone with eyes can see that Nina and Andy belong together, so her relationship with Jake is just a device. We want TV characters to get together, but if they get together too soon, the sizzle fizzes and you're left with nowhere to go. But if you keep them apart - ah, tension. That's what keeps us tuning in every week.

But it's not just romantic love, though romantic love is a bitch above all other forms of love. No, love in general, so coveted and so prized, is the source of great joy but also the source of great disappointment when expectations go unmet.

I learned a valuable lesson about that this week: I need to accept people, fully, for who they are. I need to accept what they are able to give, and accept what they are unable to give. I have expectations, I have ideas of how I'd like people to be. But that is rarely who they are.

I live in a quiet world, a solitary place where I sometimes believe I have too much time to think. A fantasy realm, really, where I concoct perfect worlds and perfect words and perfect moments. It's part of being a writer. Sometimes, I just start talking out a scene in my head, holding both sides of the conversation, and occasionally, I am astonished at what comes out of my mouth - a perfect piece of dialogue - and I run to my office and pull out a piece of paper and scrawl it down to put into the screenplay later.

But my life is not a movie. I only get to control everyone's behavior on the page. When my hands leave the keyboard, all bets are off. People will say things - or not say things - and I get riled, because their words are their own, not from the daily script that runs through my head.

My mom and I often joke, "If only the rest of the world were like us ..." but I'm not really joking, am I?

And the thing about love is: Love ends. Some love is forever. But some love ends. And it ends whether we want it to or not. Love is its own master. Love is a guest in our lives, and sometimes it doesn't stay.

We can fool ourselves and think that if we don't say anything, love won't leave. But love always knows, and it moves on, and sometimes it takes us a while to realize that it's gone.

Who can blame us? Love fills us, and when it goes away, it leaves an enormous void that we're sure we'll be unable to bear. So we hold on to avoid the pain. But eventually the day comes when we make our uneasy peace with the reality that there's nothing left to do but go through it.

And we know, deep down, that we'll find a way to bear it. That in time, we'll uncurl and sit up, our heads feeling heavy, and slowly move on, slowly leaving the pain behind. And we know it's necessary, and that the life we were living before wasn't enough, that we're worth more, and we leave friends and lovers in our wakes, and they leave us in theirs, and this journey is the only way to find it, love.


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