…Oh heart! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns!
For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin!
Shut them in,
With their triumphs and their glories and the rest!
Love is best.
–Robert Browning, Love Among the Ruins
I’ve been a bit blue lately. But it’s winter time, and I’ve been under deadlines and stress. For me, this blueness is a knowable state, even an ordinary one. While it’s annoying, these things going on are not beyond comprehension, or control. They’re just…ordinary. They…happen.
Don’t you ever get that way too?
My blueness notwithstanding, I still love talking about love. That’s one topic I never find depressing.
I love New York. I love London, and learning to love a new city. And even, from time to time, I love Paris. I love my friends. I love reconnecting with old faces; meeting new ones. I love remembering what I loved about things I thought I didn’t love.
I love it when the flowers I arrange to have delivered each month arrive, so I can put them in a vase and admire my handiwork. I love flowers. I love lilies and big orange roses. I love citrus fruit.
I love coming home each day to my dog. And if it has been a hard day, I love to flop down beside him. I love that he smells like a dog, and I love that he’s as shaggy as a muppet. I love that he falls asleep in my arms the way he did when I first brought him home. I love that he gives my life meaning and purpose.
I love my girlfriends. I love sitting around the table and talking with them; I love each of them for who they are and how different we all are. I love that we tell each other that we love each other. I love that they’ve shown me that being friends with women isn’t a scary thing or a bad thing or a competitive thing. I love that they help make it okay to be vulnerable.
I love that my friends; family; strangers support me when I run for charity. I love that others value the things that are important to me and the causes in which I believe.
I love my brother; give thanks all the time for the way he survives and thrives. I love that my family discovered FaceTime; that we can stare each other in the face and talk about the cat and the Laker game and the things that matter and the things that don’t.
I love the water.
I love sending mail; I love receiving mail. I love putting on the classics and having people over for cocktails. I love breakfast and brunch; love hot and cold cereal. I love hosting parties; I love living dangerously; I love being utterly traditional and completely inconsistent. I love macarons and fortune cookies. I love gummi bears. I love the feeling of take-off and landing; I love tall buildings and balconies. I love hot weather.
I love ribbon and ruffles and dresses and toile. I love outlandish bedding. I love patterns that do not match. I love paperback books, and traditional science fiction. I love terrible b-sides and cheesy love songs. I love leggings. I love to sweat.
I love fizzy drinks. I love soda.
I love dramatic love scenes; I love kisses on the forehead. I love passion and honesty and listening and learning to listen. I love the things I cannot have; the things I’ve had and had to let go. I love the things for which I waited, and the things that were worth waiting for.
I love that I have so much. That I have learned so much. And I love that I thought I ruined everything and I gave away all of the things I thought I should’ve kept, and that I thought I made so many terrible mistakes — and maybe I did, and maybe I am still making them! — but I seem to be loved anyway.
Blue; red; yellow haired with eager eyes. Wherever I’m headed, I know where I am, and I know that love is best.