Contemplating the Fall

An inability to find something current to write about has me presenting a previously prepared post (would ya check out that alliteration!).  There’s always lots of fodder for a write-up about Love!

Ever wonder why people are so interested in the whole prospect of Falling in Love?

Wanting to be with someone, I understand.  Historically, we have proven time and again that co-existence wards off extinction.  Some people are naturally better at certain tasks than others.  For anyone to thrive and succeed, they must have access to various abilities.  The ability to provide food, to create shelter, to suss out the intricacies of Life.  With the exception of the odd SuperHuman (who usually ends up extinct anyway since all those abilities leave no room for sex drive), we need other people to survive.

So it makes sense that we would want to search for someone to spend our time with.  It also makes sense that certain qualities – such as child-bearing hips, or a well-muscled torso – are universally seen as attractive, and thus sought after.  Men need to carry home the kill, women need to continue to name.

So where did all those other little cravings come from? You know, the ones that make us favour blue eyed blondes and guys who drive sports cars, women whose IQ matches their cup size and lips that look soft and full.  Is it media, pressing societal idealism on us, day after day?  That can probably be disproved – I’m sure non-survival qualities were sought after prior to Playboy and Marilyn Monroe.

There is always someone out there who would be with you.  You could live together, support each other, have lots of healthy babies who will someday have more healthy babies who will someday have more healthy babies … so why must we seek out the one qualification that will inevitably threaten to ruin us somewhere down the line?

Love is so messy!  First you spend months – years, even – searching for someone you could potentially love one day.  Then, if they actually feel the same way, you start a long, awkward “casual” relationship while you both work up the nerve; first to convince yourself that it’s love, and then to convince yourself that the other person feels the same way and it is finally time to unveil the full extent of your adoration.

And once you have, the nail-biting continues.  Those three words aren’t actually magic, like the adage would have you believe.  Rather, it’s the cue phrase for a whole new set of problems.  Now that you’ve admitting your besottment, do you move in together? How soon? Do you start making plans for the future, like marriage and joint RRSPs?  And it isn’t even just about the two of you, anymore.  Can you take the chance that your children might have their grandfather’s hook nose or their great-aunt’s sixth toe? Not to mention, you need to decide whether you like each other’s parents, siblings and extended family, and can stand to be around all of them for the next fifty years or so.

Even if all of that is kosher and you’re still so smitten with each other that you’re certain nothing can turn you away, you have another fifty years or so to dig up other problems.  He could end up having some kind of mid-life crisis, during which he will either sleep with a twenty-three year old hooker from Texas who is only selling her body so she can afford to feed her two year old son and put herself through medical school, or buy a firetruck-red Mustang Convertible with your second daughter’s college fund.  She just might panic at the first sign of grey hair, spiral into a pit of depression only alleviated by either a secret, 4-year relationship with a man twenty years her junior, a botched breast augmentation, or a psychotic break that lands her in a mental hospital with little to no cognitive awareness.

Basically, regardless of how much you love each other, and whether or not your intentions are pure at the onset, things go haywire in relationships.  If somehow you beat the odds and wind up persistently, madly in love after sixty years, four kids, sixteen grandchildren and a Winnebago, the Gods still might see fit to smite one of you with dementia, which causes you to forget the face of your one true love.

So you see, love inevitably causes heartbreak, even if you do manage to get it into a stranglehold and keep it for life.  So why don’t we just find someone we can put up with, who can put up with us, and leave it at that?

I doubt that it has anything to do with the fluffy, light headed, utterly blissful sensations currently coursing through my body.


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