February 1

There isn’t an artist, a writer, a dreamer, a practical, a mathematician, a bio chemist, a nautical engineer, a pin-striped salesman, an apron clad housewife, a plains hunter in a bungalow, a prince or pauper, drug dealer or saint, gay or straight, there isn’t one, single non-sociopathic soul on the entire earth who hasn’t struggled with believing in the existence of romantic love. But if Doc Brown can find his Clara, I would really like to believe we all can. In light of this holiday I feel I ought to contribute my own expressions on romantic love, especially because my story actually has to do with what this blog is about: Minnesota. I’ve planned out a fourteen day series of posts, one post per day until the grand holiday of Valentine's.

It’s funny. I had wanted to begin this series of posts with a contemptibly cliché introduction, something to the effect of: “There are many different kinds of love…” and then proceed to go through a list of categories, defining love in a corny, intellectual “self-help-handbook” sort of way. But then I came to my senses. There are only two kinds of love, Reader, and they can’t be explained with words of the brain. They have to be re-told with words of the heart, of the soul. I’m no expert on the matter, that is an undeniable truth (and those reading who know me are in grand agreement). All I know is what I’ve seen, felt, and experienced, and I’m here to share it in hopes that others can either say they understand what I’ve been through, or realize that there’s at least something to hope for. Hope for? That was deceiving, Reader. My love story, if that’s what you want to label it, isn’t that exciting, nor does it have a happy ending, and it certainly isn’t anything all too original. Despite these things, however, or maybe because of them, I can confidently say my story has merit in the long, great cosmic scheme of things. Or so I hope.

Like I said before, there are only two kinds of love. There is the sort of love between two people in any sort of relationship; and then there’s the sort of love between two people who have sex. The latter would be defined as romantic love, probably the most mysterious and complicated because of the sex factor. I’m not sure there’s anybody in history that has been able to define it, to explain it, to pin down the exact nature of the force and the truth of what it really is. You’ve either experienced it, or you haven’t. I’ve experienced it, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant. I’m not sure it ever is, truth be told. However, Reader, if you’ve had a positive experience with romantic love? I’d strongly encourage you to share it. Share it here, share it with others, write about it, tell about it: share it. ‘Because in all reality, it’s the only thing that will make believers out of the skeptics. It’s the only thing that will give romantic love’s existence a life force, a power that will only grow by faith. We’ve all been hurt by romantic love, and in many ways it has regrettably become our enemy. Hearts have been broken through betrayal, or the love hasn’t been returned in the way that we needed it to; or we’ve mistaken the obsession, the addiction, the crush, the necessity, the convenience, the infatuation, the excessive hormones, as true love. Some of us have found out how painfully wrong we can be on the matter, our senses consistently failing what only the deepest part of our souls can detect. I was always taught that love never fails, and that, Reader, is the truest test of all. Or so, I once believed. Love has failed, or I have failed at love, in so many ways in my life that it takes an awful lot of pep talking of the soul to keep me believing in its force. However, above all and through it all, and from the deepest parts of my being, I do believe that love itself is the one thing that keeps the universe connected, the one thing that separates the humans from the animals, the one thing that gives us purpose far greater than survival, and the one thing that saves us from damnation, whatever your interpretation of damnation may be. I’m not sure there is anybody in history that has been able to define it, to explain it, to pin down the exact nature of the force and the truth of what romantic love really is, but Reader? I’m about to attempt to.