I Don't Have the Words
Ever since I started this journal, I have wanted to say something about my wife. Something about how wonderful and exciting and frustrating and infuriating she is. Something about how much I love her and why.
The only reason I haven't is because I was "waiting for the right words" to come to me. But it occurred to me not ten minutes ago that those words will never come. I will never be able to fully explain the depth and, more importantly, the complexity of my feelings for my lovely bride of six years.
My feelings change from day to day. Hell, my feelings change from hour to hour. And all of that gets wrapped up in what I feel for her. I don't need to see her naked body to stir my heart. All I need to see is how she cocks her eyebrow at me when I've made a bad joke. There's as much feeling in that sight as there is in the deepest throes of passion. Not that I'm knocking passion. It's a treat!
But passion fades and burning desire turns to ashes. That's the nature of intense emotions. Not strong ones, mind you. Intense ones. The human body can only take so much adrenaline and then it just throws up it (figurative) hands and says, "Enough! No more!" I still feel passion for my wife. I don't think I'll ever completely stop. But passion isn't love. I'm passionate about my comic book collection. That doesn't mean I love it. I sure as hell wouldn't marry it. I have a friend who is passionate about the weather, of all things. I hardly think he would describe what he feels as love.
But I love my wife. Strongly. Those words mean something different every time I say them. They mean "I love you because you're wonderful." They mean"I love you even though you're bugging the hell out of me right now." They even mean "I love you despite the fact that you've royally pissed me off." And every time I say "I love you", it comes from a deep well of feeling. Strong feeling. Strong as in tough, durable and lasting.
I think that too many people use the word love to mean passion. They confuse intense feelings for strong ones. That's not what I mean when I say I love my wife. Sure, I have the hots for her, even after almost a decade of knowing and, ahem, knowing her. But what I feel for her is different from moment to moment. And yet, at it's core, it's exactly the same. A cocked eyebrow. A wicked smile. A silly catchphrase (Why would anyone want to poke a turkey, anyway?). These are all things that remind me of what I feel for my wife. I could add to that list forever and not get it done.
As to why I love her, well, a cocked eyebrow, a wicked smile, a silly catchphrase (Boom!), etc. etc. et al. I love her for the exact same things that remind me of why I love her. Crazy, isn't it? It's Ouroboros all over again. An endless cycle of small cues that make me love her all over again and remind me why I fell in love with her in the first place.
Those who know what I'm talking about already understand what I'm saying. Those that don't, may never. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
My original intent for this post was to talk about my wife, not myself or the nature of emotion, but I find that I can't talk about her without talking about myself. She's become so much a part of my life, my routine, my self-image that I can't help it. Yes, she's wonderful. She takes care of me like no one ever has before. She's exciting. She does this thing with her....well, never mind that. She's frustrating. She believes in the existance of faeries, or so she says. She's infuriating. She...actually, she's not infuriating. I just get mad really easily sometimes. I can be a real jerk. And what does she do? She takes it in stride, and she helps me deal with my screwed-uppedness. And that just makes me love her even more.
My nature always makes me ponder the nature of emotion, especially love. I always want to know why. I think, on some level, most people want to understand why we feel the way we feel about our loved ones. And I'm sure that science will eventually answer this question. There's already been some rumblings from the molecular biologists and psychiatrists about this. Maybe my wife just produces a lot of oxytocin, I don't know. Right at this moment, I don't care.
All I care about is that my wife is, at this moment, all snuggly in our bed, no doubt already asleep. I think I'll join her. That's what love's all about. That, and just about everything else under the sun.
Good night.
The only reason I haven't is because I was "waiting for the right words" to come to me. But it occurred to me not ten minutes ago that those words will never come. I will never be able to fully explain the depth and, more importantly, the complexity of my feelings for my lovely bride of six years.
My feelings change from day to day. Hell, my feelings change from hour to hour. And all of that gets wrapped up in what I feel for her. I don't need to see her naked body to stir my heart. All I need to see is how she cocks her eyebrow at me when I've made a bad joke. There's as much feeling in that sight as there is in the deepest throes of passion. Not that I'm knocking passion. It's a treat!
But passion fades and burning desire turns to ashes. That's the nature of intense emotions. Not strong ones, mind you. Intense ones. The human body can only take so much adrenaline and then it just throws up it (figurative) hands and says, "Enough! No more!" I still feel passion for my wife. I don't think I'll ever completely stop. But passion isn't love. I'm passionate about my comic book collection. That doesn't mean I love it. I sure as hell wouldn't marry it. I have a friend who is passionate about the weather, of all things. I hardly think he would describe what he feels as love.
But I love my wife. Strongly. Those words mean something different every time I say them. They mean "I love you because you're wonderful." They mean"I love you even though you're bugging the hell out of me right now." They even mean "I love you despite the fact that you've royally pissed me off." And every time I say "I love you", it comes from a deep well of feeling. Strong feeling. Strong as in tough, durable and lasting.
I think that too many people use the word love to mean passion. They confuse intense feelings for strong ones. That's not what I mean when I say I love my wife. Sure, I have the hots for her, even after almost a decade of knowing and, ahem, knowing her. But what I feel for her is different from moment to moment. And yet, at it's core, it's exactly the same. A cocked eyebrow. A wicked smile. A silly catchphrase (Why would anyone want to poke a turkey, anyway?). These are all things that remind me of what I feel for my wife. I could add to that list forever and not get it done.
As to why I love her, well, a cocked eyebrow, a wicked smile, a silly catchphrase (Boom!), etc. etc. et al. I love her for the exact same things that remind me of why I love her. Crazy, isn't it? It's Ouroboros all over again. An endless cycle of small cues that make me love her all over again and remind me why I fell in love with her in the first place.
Those who know what I'm talking about already understand what I'm saying. Those that don't, may never. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
My original intent for this post was to talk about my wife, not myself or the nature of emotion, but I find that I can't talk about her without talking about myself. She's become so much a part of my life, my routine, my self-image that I can't help it. Yes, she's wonderful. She takes care of me like no one ever has before. She's exciting. She does this thing with her....well, never mind that. She's frustrating. She believes in the existance of faeries, or so she says. She's infuriating. She...actually, she's not infuriating. I just get mad really easily sometimes. I can be a real jerk. And what does she do? She takes it in stride, and she helps me deal with my screwed-uppedness. And that just makes me love her even more.
My nature always makes me ponder the nature of emotion, especially love. I always want to know why. I think, on some level, most people want to understand why we feel the way we feel about our loved ones. And I'm sure that science will eventually answer this question. There's already been some rumblings from the molecular biologists and psychiatrists about this. Maybe my wife just produces a lot of oxytocin, I don't know. Right at this moment, I don't care.
All I care about is that my wife is, at this moment, all snuggly in our bed, no doubt already asleep. I think I'll join her. That's what love's all about. That, and just about everything else under the sun.
Good night.
posted by Coralius at 8/18/2005
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