I've never tried to hide the fact that I am a helpless romantic. Not able to do anything about it, and not wanting to try, I resigned myself to deal with the highs and lows of my kind of love. I couldn't find a name for it so I copped out with "whatever it is, I got it."I recognized it in the sixth grade-that's right- the sixth grade- and made it my mantra, understanding it more as I grew up and accepting it as my life's compass. "Wouldn't it be great,"I proudly announced, "to come home every night to your soulmate and just kiss and hug?" My buddies had me down as a nutso but I reveled in its mountains and valleys and decided, early on, to jump on this wave and surrender myself to it. But for a very, very long time, I couldn't be specific about this phenomenon.I didn't have to be because I was hooked, so who needed a name?
But now, coming down my home stretch, I can be specific and define this driving force of my life. For the first time, I can describe it with words that my reader may not endorse but hopefully can understand.
It's a form of romantic love characterized by infatuation, an aching of the heart, and a general intensity of feeling that overshadows other concerns or interests. It includes sex but is manifested mainly as a mental activity.
An example of this apprehension before the application of judgement is when two decently married individuals find their lives upended when they are swept away by romantic love for each other.
We all have notions that it is wonderful to fall in love. But it can be disruptive and destructive. Conversely, for those of us who are susceptible to this emotion, it fills our lives with soaring happiness.
The element of option is just about obviated.
For me, I feel lucky and wouldn't have it any other way.
Wow, what a ride!
My heart's in my hands.