Love is not easy. I think we’re conditioned to think it is, but it isn’t. From the time we’re a child, we’re told to love others. And so, we tell people—friends, significant others, family—that we love them, without ever considering the weight of what we’re saying. What it means to love. The never ceasing work it requires.
Even so, I love love.
Not budding love.
Not obligatory love.
Not romantic love.
Not celebrity love.
Real love.
That hard love. That love sculpted from experience after experience after experience. Love tested by hardships and heartbreaks. Love that forgives without apology. Love that builds up, rather than tears down. Love that accepts someone’s faults. Love that not only hopes, but believes.
Real snapshots of this love aren’t found on social media or on television. They’re most often found during mundane moments. It’s a door being held for someone who cannot move quickly. It’s giving up the last bite. It’s conversations about bad days. It’s standing in the rain waiting for the dog to pee. It’s an introvert in a crowded room, and an extrovert on a quiet couch. It’s questions of why and how and what if. It’s giving up control of the radio. It’s learning a new sport or language or a hobby. It’s holding the hand of someone in so much pain they cannot speak.
You can’t force love. Those words we tell our children to say, that we spit out at the end of an argument and scribble into greeting cards are meaningless. Real love is one person at a time making a decision about how they are going to treat others. It’s tedious and slow going and sometimes seems impossible, but if you’re lucky, every so often when you least expect it, you’ll see it glimmer. Love will sparkle on a rainy day, in a crowded room, in a life changing situation and you’ll see why it’s so worth it.
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