My husband recently told me he’s only been in love twice. Apparently, I did not hide my shock well because he shot back, “Why? How many times have YOU been in love?” And I genuinely could not answer him. The truth is, and not to sound flippant about such a big topic, but I’ve loved wildly my whole life. Love and relationships have been a series of explosions for me. A fire, not always good or safe, but fierce. From the boy who was mean to me on the school bus in kindergarten to the boys I’ve watched strum guitars under stage lights, I’ve fallen in love again and again. Openly and freely. I’ve loved bad boys, nerds, narcissists, drug addicts, bass players, bartenders, poets, chefs, night owls, scholars and outcasts. I’ve leapt whole heartedly and have quite the scar system across my heart and skin to show for it. But the love I have for my husband seems to come from a deeper place, a cooler place, than those who came before.
When I met him, I was 34 and living in New York City. I was tired of online dating, tired of wondering why nothing ever worked out, yet still hanging on to some shred of hope that my next love was out there. The skateboarder/artist/carpenter (his descriptor) and I connected on “OK Cupid” and made a plan to grab a drink. Two hours before our meeting time, I was heading home from work to get myself date-ready, when I saw him right in front of me on Avenue A in Manhattan. Even though we had never met face to face, I recognized him from his profile pictures. Panicking and almost crossing the street – I wasn’t in the cute outfit I had planned, nor my signature red lipstick! – I took a deep breath, walked up to him, and said hi. After a big laugh and a warm, welcoming hug, we decided to throw the original plan to the wind and start right then and there, two hours early. It was a perfect first date.
This start was the kind of spark I am drawn to, but as time passed with him, there was something new in the mix. There was a calmness to our connection, to the way we fell in love. It was exciting, sure, but there wasn’t the usual uneasiness I had come to associate with love. Shortly into our relationship, I got very sick with some autoimmune problems. There were scary symptoms and he never wavered. When I struggled to finish my first novel, he never doubted it would sell. And when any adventure presented itself, he made the perfect playlist for smooth sailing. To belabor an overused metaphor, this love was more like water, like a river. It flowed and was cool to the touch. Rivers can be terrifying though. Even if they look peaceful, there is strength in their flow, and they can have dangerous undercurrents. In love, the undercurrents are the insecurities, the past pain, the doubts. This time though, they didn’t pull me under or backwards.
When I was younger, I was drawn to passion, not calm. I ran away from traditional ideas of love and relationships, never knowing what it would take to steady me, keep me afloat. Turns out it was a big dude who is way into skateboarding and watching sports while drinking some beers and having a good laugh. He’s not overly ambitious, and I say that kindly. He is accomplished and talented but operates from a place of settlement rather than reaching (like I do). So, I guess there’s a balance. Our love for each other is simple. We laugh every day. We delight in the same things. We are both up for adventure and excitement, but Jim Moore has helped me to savor the quiet moments, the moments I have nothing to prove. A riverbed holds steady underneath the rushing water, after all. That’s what love is to me now. At least the love that has lasted. Happy Valentine’s Day to my one true love, and to everyone in the fire of it all.
You can email Bonnie Pipkin at bonniepipkinwrites@gmail.com.
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February 11, 2021 at 05:47PM
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Love is cool, and deeper than ever before | North State Voices - Chico Enterprise-Record
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