Yes, I'm Pretty, Can We Talk About Something Else?

(rebroadcast)

Sometimes this feels like a fools errand. Writing about love-- what is there to write about, anyway? I can't imagine what more to say about the world of love and sex, or about the world in general. The trouble with all of it--- that is, the trouble with taking all of it and writing about it in an entertaining and enlightening way--- is that when I take a step back and think about it clearly, it all seems so terribly simple. Find a friend who makes you tingle a little, make an arrangement with that friend to screw on a regular basis, and also as a matter of convenience spend additional time with them. If you start feeling attached, then spend more time snuggling and agree not to fuck other people. And then, you know, let them watch your DVD’s and sleep in your house and help name your pets and, if you are really perverted, cook dinner for them sometimes instead of ordering Tai. Why do we make it so difficult? How can this very simple process become so complicated?

Here is one way: every single day, you are a new person. You are YOU, in the technical sense, but how you feel and what you think and how you want your genitals licked will suddenly be different. And because love and sex (at least good sex) are a fine and strange alchemy of chemicals and spools of thought, you never know what change is going to make the whole thing go bad. Tender and comforting lovemaking can oh so quickly become dull and passionless intercourse. Loving the same movies can land you one day realizing that what you do together is watch a lot of movies. Find yourself a free spirit lover and then wake up one day to the terrifying truth that “free spirit” means they could leave you any second.

It is this wicked little paradox, where the ideal lover is one who gives you space and lets your be yourself, but you also need to be TOGETHER, you need to be doing it in the same space and the same drumbeat, otherwise what is the point to begin with? Casual sex is righteous and lovely, but passion comes from digging deep and being scared. But the last thing you want is a mate who you are scared with all the time. Except that is exactly what you want. And, also, not at all.

I have an incredibly beautiful friend--- like, so pretty that it makes your eyes tear up--- and of course, she thinks she is very plain and it makes her kind of confused and suspicious that people keep telling her how gorgeous she is. One day I told her that the trouble is that BEAUTY, by its nature, includes an element of surprise. The sunset is beautiful because it only happens for a few minutes, only when the clouds are in the right place, and you rarely are looking when it comes. It is almost impossible to look in the mirror and see yourself as beautiful because you have seen yourself before, and what’s more, you can feel your own bones and blood and dry skin--- you are always there to yourself. The very definition of beauty includes being taken aback by a shine that you did not expect.

Love is the same way. Most of the time, a huge giant ocean of most of the time, that you are with someone, there is nothing to be too worried about. When someone is fucking you, you can probably take it as given that they want to fuck you. Rationally, it isn’t really hard to tell if someone loves you-- its obvious; they tell you, they do things for you, they want your attention, they dress up like a school girl and get on their knees and beg for your cock. But you are always going to be afraid that it isn’t enough, you are always going to wonder and worry and hope for more proof because that is what love IS. Love IS the parts of a relationship that go beyond what you expect. It is impossible to get your head around love because what love IS is the part that you can’t get your head around.

And that creates a lot of tension. And confusion. And fear. It makes even the most casual relationship one that can drain you and makes you wonder who you are. And it makes even the most long and established relationship seem like “what the fuck, why doesn’t this make sense yet?” Because the parts that make sense already make sense. All of your energy goes into the shit you don’t get.

The wise fat men in the east say that “life is suffering.” Guess what. Love is too. Get used to it.

-