Reckless, Irresponsible, Fearless Love

Let’s say you wake up one morning and get all ready to meet a friend for some brunch. You’re looking your best, grab your keys, check for your wallet and phone, and then you’re out the door. With every step taken, you marvel at the way the weather is making you feel.

Now, let me ask you this. Do you stop right before getting in/on your method of transport and sincerely think to yourself: “Hmm, I might get in a crash if I do this”?

Do you look at everyday things from a danger angle and think to yourself what’s the point of participating? Chances are you don’t do this. Hell, the chances that anyone does this are slim to none.

And I’m not going to sit here and beat the obvious dead horse by asking “why” people look at love through the same lens of dangers and risk.

I think we can all agree that it’s the fear of getting hurt.

Maybe you got hurt before and haven’t healed, so you don’t want it to happen again. Maybe you’re hurting right now. Yet, no one really thinks like this about many other things that pose greater risks.

Well, I may just be the risky, reckless type.

See, I don’t think about injuring my back when I don’t lift heavy objects with my legs. I don’t consider the possible financial pain that may come from not reading the terms and conditions of any agreement I sign. I don’t really let the possibility of choking and dying to stop me from eating.

I hardly see anyone pondering on the side effects of over-the-counter medications before they take them. I haven’t met a single smoker who looks at the Surgeon General’s warning on the pack and buys a beer instead. That’s because sometimes they buy both. Maybe that’s their vice of choice.

Well, love is my vice of choice. If I can even call it a “choice”… When I think about it, I don’t want it to be a choice.

Personally, I don't think love should be like going to the grocery store and choosing what kind of snack I’m going to buy. It’s not some sort of weird transaction with a 14-kiss return policy or something.

If I have to expect something in return when I give love, then it’s not something that interests me altogether.

I don’t need people to love me the same way I love them for it to be real. I don’t require people to speak a certain “love language” for me to know what something means to them.

Imagine that, loving unconditionally… To give without expectation. That’s damn near impossible given our flawed nature and our flawed world.

That’s why some basic things would be nice. Safety. Stability. Trust. Loyalty. All great perks but deep down, it’s also the moments when those things aren’t present that show how deep the love really runs… or cuts.

I don’t need to look past the blacks of someone’s eyes to know when there’s a passion burning within them. Maybe that’s one of my gifts. Or maybe I just see myself in them because I also burn eternally.

I don’t get to choose when my heart pumps blood through my system. It just does it. Likewise, love isn't something you force to happen.

Love isn’t something you just go out and hunt for. It’s not something you get to demand or are even entitled to. No one owes me any love because it’s not a currency. It’s not an object, it’s not something that’s tangible in and of itself.

Love is like air - invisible, yet you feel it. You know when it’s there and you know when it isn’t. It's a gift.

Now, you can sit here and tell me the science and chemistry behind it all. How my brain produces the dopamine and the butterflies are just my nerves, etc. All that tells me about you is that I can never take you to see a magic show because you’re itching to “disprove” the illusion.

Sometimes, it’s fun to be playfully fooled. To be betrayed by your own better instincts, and have no answer to give when people ask you why you just feel the way you feel.

There are things I simply don’t care to scrutinize and love is one of them.

So long as there’s no actual threat to life, limb, or eyesight, I want to let love rage freely like the wild beast it is. So much so that I begin questioning my own sanity. And if I ever begin to question it, only then will I begin to take back control.

Irresponsible? Reckless? Immature? Sure, call it what you will.

All I know is this is a fire you’ll never extinguish in me, and I hope it's never extinguished in you.