Modern Love

I guess this post never went through -- weird! Anyway, it doesn't matter too much, because everything in here has been recycled endlessly in my head over the past few weeks...

So, I'm watching "When Harry Met Sally" right now. I probably shouldn't be doing this, because while it's a lighthearted and friendly movie, it raises again and again that issue of male-female relationships. Now, I’m not a genius at matters of the heart. Not remotely. But lately, emotional thought has been at the foreground of my life. I used to be so obsessed with my work and professional/intellectual advancement - in contrast, I'm finding this current period of personal interest kind of disconcerting. Is it right to pass your day thinking about someone you like rather than focusing exclusively on what you should be achieving? I read a profile in which Vera Wang discussed how challenging it is to lead her life. She says her kids often eat dinner at her studio, that her best hours of creativity are from 11-2AM, and that she is grateful to have a workaholic husband who matches her drive and ambition. Impressive; but how did she find him?

I have this sense that somewhere "out there," there are millions of young women like me who are so-called late bloomers. We didn't really date in high-school, had one flash-in-the-pan turbulent encounter in college, which drove us to our books, and spent our ensuing years in predominantly female circles. I idolized (and still do) Virginia Woolf, Georgia O'Keeffe, and even Jean Seberg. Dear god. I mean, Woolf was off writing about women orgasming metaphorically, Stieglitz had a pet name for O'Keeffe's vagina, and Belmondo spent all of Breathless trying to (with success, at one point) bed Seberg's character. How is it possible that there are so many intelligent, intellectually stimulated young women out there who aren't dating, who managed to entirely bypass the radical sexual bacchanal that is the American college experience?

Men are a constant source of mystery to me; I talk to them, go out with them platonically, have daydreams about them, and every step of the way, I'm stunned by the reality of our interactions. It's amazing how you can exist in two divergent worlds: the world of your imagination and desire versus the world of human behavior, human restraint. Socialization has never before been such an important part of my everyday life. I always felt so insulated from dealing with drama by living safely ensconced in the world of books and poetry. I never thought that real people - men and women - would or could be so attractive, so oddly intoxicating. I can't immerse myself in "Howard's End," and I'm unable to read even the simplest lines of poetry without hearing the echo of my poetry professor, Emily, who opened our first class by declaring that "all poetry is love poetry." I remember the immediate roar of disagreement that rose in my voice and head until I dwelt on it and concluded that she was right. Isn’t it all about love? Love of humanity, of immortality – or even mortality – of existence, of emotion, of ourselves. Cummings has these great lines when he says:

"i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing."

Some days I think that I could be perfectly content – happy, even – just being on my own. I’m a conscient creature: I’m sensible to emotion, weather, interpersonal dynamics, lighting, aesthetics. It would be enough to live with these things, if only because I feel that they won’t dull over time. There is so much to do and to see. And yet, I often can’t shake the feeling that it would be delightful to have a companion to whom to point out the first daffodils, for whom to bake gingerbread men, to whom I could talk for just 2 minutes after I close my book and turn off the lamp. Someone whose face I want to write about, to photograph, to trace. It's a creative impulse as well.

I recently admitted to a friend that I had feelings for him. It went fine; probably one of the most adult things I’ve done in a while. In a way, I’m glad I was able to tell him and trust that he would treat me as kindly as he always does. But in another way, I’m vaguely heartbroken. It is difficult – for me – to believe that I’ll find this kind of bizarrely tender, funny, intellectual and spiritual connection with someone else. Maybe it’s a hallmark of my youthful perspective, as he tells me. More and more, I realize an unsuspected capacity in myself to be idealistic and romantic rather than skeptical. It’s just that when I have feelings for people, even when I’m not in their presence, my awareness of beauty is so much stronger, so much more vital. I see stone curlicues carved into a wall and feel awe, study sombre medieval paintings and laugh at the facial expressions, smell flowers in other people’s gardens, and recall little trickles of poetry all the time. Words, especially, seem sweeter and riper, more abundant than when my emotions are neutral.

With all of this, you’d think it would be easier to be glad for platonic love. Maybe part of modern love is accepting platonic love. It certainly seems to involve some kind of reconciliation – but the reconciliation is with yourself and your own life rather than your partner. I went to a colleague’s wedding over the weekend, and was mesmerized by all the religious rituals: the dancing, the blessings, and the toasts by childhood mentors. But in the midst of this, as I watched Ben (bridegroom) struggle through a North-African song of devotion, and saw Shani (bride) laughing and blushing in her lace gown, I felt how young they were – how flushed, excited, and above all, unmarred. It was unbearably moving to witness.

There's no conclusion to this. I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot about love – its gradations and variations, how it manifests itself. I figure that modern love is simply a process of discovering that you too want to be with yourself, if that makes sense. I always feel so tentative about this stuff. I guess I haven’t really left the woeful 14-year-old in me behind. It’s funny to see how she lingers, how she’s coping with the idea of growing up and finding her equal. We’re both, as you’ll note, still seeking sanctuary in metaphor and quotation -- because the human part is just a little harder to master.