The Luckiest


Summer (Adam and Anna)
C.S. Prewitt, 2006
acrylic and oil on canvas

"'Love is like falconry,'" he said. "Don’t you think that’s true, Cleveland?"
"Never say love is like anything," said Cleveland. "It isn’t."

-Michael Chabon, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh

I believe in love. That’s it right there, the whole story really. I could go on and on (and have, and will) about my ideas and hopes and beliefs, but at the end of the day, I could sum it all up with that one simple sentence: I believe in love. Once you’ve heard that, you could pretty much go home and not miss out.

I don’t know when or why or how, but somehow, in this bitter, blistered heart of mine, I found room to make love the central idea and aim of my life. Everything that’s good about my life, about me, revolves around it. I want to love, and to be loved in return, and if I can have that, I can stand to watch the rest fall by the wayside. “All you need is love”? Damn straight. What else is there?

I went to one of my best friends’ wedding this past weekend. It was a wonderful time. Almost all of my closest friends were there to join in the celebration; it was if someone had thrown a party and invited all my favorite people in the world. I can’t remember having a better time. I can’t remember being happier.

The wedding itself was a Catholic wedding, and included a Catholic mass. Of course, I am not of a religious bent, so I was only half paying attention during the homily. I drifted in and out, let my mind wander and my eyes work their way around the room. But then the priest said something that made me sit up and take notice. He was talking about love, and because I believe in love and feel strongly on the subject, I started listening. He said that so much of love is this deep, unceasing process of discovery, of getting to know the other person and becoming closer to them. He told us that that process is the foundation of love, the bedrock, and I was with him, nodding my head and everything. And then he lost me. He asked “Wouldn’t it be terrible if you could ever know your spouse completely?” The implication seemed to be that if that opportunity for discovery was ever gone, so would be the very thing that made the relationship work.

And I just thought: “Clearly, Father, you’ve never been in love before.”

Being in love is unique in the human experience in that there is nothing one can adequately compare it to. You can’t say “Being in love is like _____,” because there’s nothing to put at the end of that sentence. Being in love is like nothing but itself; there is no comparison or frame of reference. And until you’ve been in love yourself, it is impossible to speak intelligently on the subject. You either get it, or you don’t (because you’ve either experienced it, or you haven’t).

In my life, I’ve been fortunate enough to experience being in love twice. I have a lot to say on the subject. My feeling is this: to truly know your partner would be the greatest gift one could ever have. The process of discovery is a great thing-- it is the foundation, just like the priest said. But it is not the thing itself. You cannot be in love with someone for what they could be, cannot be in love with their potential. You can love that part of them, or lust after it, or project some broken part of yourself onto it (I myself have done all of these, and more), but to be in love, truly in love, you have to be in love with who they actually are. Just as a house is not the same as the ground on which it is built, love is not the same as the getting-to-know-you process from which it begins.

The discovery is great and wonderful, and to be cherished. But it’s the part that comes later, when you know the person, when you understand them, and they you (albeit not completely), that is the true love, the love that matters. That’s the love you base a marriage on. That’s the love I’ve been looking for since I was a child.

As I sat there in the church, thinking about what the priest said, and silently forming a counterargument in my mind (which is actually what I always do in church come to think of it) I thought that this was actually an immensely important day for me. Obviously the day was supposed to be about the bride and groom, that’s who we were there for, but on a personal level, it had great significance for me as well. As I said, I believe in love. It’s an article of faith for me, the article of faith. But I have not been lucky in love. My search for love has been a struggle, marked by disappointment more often than success, heartbreak more often than happiness. My faith is strong, but in the face of adversity even the strongest faith can come into question, and we wonder, what if we were wrong all along?

On Saturday, July 8, 2006, at the wedding of these two friends, I was privileged enough to see my beliefs made manifest. As I watched them during the ceremony, and later at the reception when they had their first dance to that beautiful song, I felt all the doubts I’d ever had melt away. Because it was real, it was right there in front of me. There they were, two people who were as perfect for each other as any two people could ever be, who knew each other as well as any two people can, who loved each other, completely. And I thought, “If it happened once, it can happen again.”

“It can happen to me.”

Love has a way of making you an optimist. This is a terrible world sometimes, and our lives can be equally terrible. And yet, there’s always love, if you really believe in it. And if there’s always love, there’s always hope. You get hit, get knocked down, fine. Get up, you silly old sot. Dust yourself off; the next round is starting. Just remember: every fight ends someday. That’s how you keep going. Simple as that.

I know that love is real. I’ve seen it for myself. And if love is real, if love is a possibility, then I can face anything.

Congratulations, you crazy kids.

And thanks.