My love

By Jules Alder

I love clarity of thought, love waking up in pools of sunshine and singing birds who aren't afraid of perching on my catwalk, exposed to the larger and more predatory crows who think they own my block.

I love not needing coffee to get through a day, but I love breaking down and splurging on a late cappuccino and staying up till 6 am, spilling my thoughts onto a keyboard where the idle, unconscious world can't see me.

I once loved strawberries, moss, moist towelettes, and talks that lasted until 3 am. I still love strawberries, moss, and moist towelettes, but it is harder to find people who can stay up all hours, and I know now that it takes much more to make the world go 'round.

I love it when people get me, but I must admit I love it even more when I get myself because I'm the one who has to live with it.

I love that there are people out there who think a lot like I do, but I really love that I can still surprise them, and that they can surprise me back.

I love beauty, and I find it everywhere, even places where most others wouldn't find anything. I love to laugh, also, at many, many things even though this quality can make other people nervous.

When I love, I love long. The same can be said of grief, but I love this too, for I love the luxury of emotions, the richness of the human psyche, the experience of thought.

I love it when occasionally someone reaches out, asks me to show them how to love. (But I won't deny that I also sometimes really love being left alone.)

I love that my friends have no doubts about who they are and aren't hung up about things as beneath us as time, distance, or money.

I love that "Eureka!" moment that comes after working on a story or script for as long as a year or two without seeming to get anywhere real.

Because I love getting real.
I love it when people get real.
I love the tactile sensation of unaltered reality and people who know it and can feel it too. (These are my people, and they are legion, but scattered and often without a voice.)

And this is why I love to travel. I love that the world can't always come to me. I have to remember to visit it as well.

I love making little Post-It Note icons for things that I've written that many won't read. Hell, I love that many people won't have read this far, in a way, because it just proves Neil Postman right. (And I love that at least one of you reading, eventually, will know what I mean and that at least one of you who doesn't, eventually, will look Neil Postman up. And I can't help but love knowing that some of you are scowling at this.)

I love wisdom, but I love having the freedom to be foolish. I learn best from uninterrupted mistakes.

I love the vicarious thrill of reading, of seeing through other people's eyes, especially a well researched and well-wrought biography, which can give a better snapshot of history than many a textbook.

Like Monika, I love bare feet in damp grass, and I love that she said that because apartment living can be so cut off from all the things that make life lovely and easy.

I love it when city folks try to become farmers. They fail sometimes, but it's the trying that counts.

I love it when anybody reaches out to what centers them and looks for good reasons to love and live in peace with themselves and their neighbors. Some days, I think this is the only thing we have left.

And I love the family of humanity. (I've been watching Henry Louis Gates, Jr.'s "Faces of America" series, where they discuss the human genome and the history of human evolution, originating in East Africa.) I love knowing that we are not separated by much, even if Frost was right and good fences indeed make good neighbors.

I love winding down in long silences, love remembering why I do the things that I do.

But mostly, I love solitude because I know that it is not forever, that it is productive, and that in these moments in which I seal myself off from the world, I am really saying that I am a part of something great and powerful and mysterious that deserves my attention and my appreciation and, above all, what gifts I can conceivably give back.

Even in my most selfish moments, I love this.

My love

Created: Mar 13, 2010


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