I have been thinking all morning about love. What is it?
What does the word even mean? Love.
It’s so complex. I love a whole bunch of things. I LOVE my freedom. I’ve learned that very quickly. I suppose that is truly not a “thing”. Hm.
As I was pondering I reflected back to my parents and to my past as I always do.
I am a haunted human. I have been diagnosed with C=PTSD. However, I can reflect and learn. This is good.
Love. My parents.
Throughout their lives, my mother always worked so hard to earn my father’s love. My mind was perpetually blown by this because she was amazing to me! She was beautiful and smart. In her youth, she had been an excellent student. She excelled in music and had been a church-going woman. I saw every single pin and saw every certificate. So, what in the sweet hell was she doing?!
I was baffled as a little girl. Dumbfounded.
As for my father, He was handsome and funny and brilliant. A masterminded genius mechanically who could mathematically solve any problem placed in front of him. Unfortunately, he was born poor and his father had been a soldier in the first World War and had come home with PTSD and a nasty drinking problem. My father chose a life of drinking as well. By the time I was born he was on trial for involuntary manslaughter.
I often just tell people that my mother and father are the epitome of Sandra Dee and James Dean. I loved them more than the sun and the moon.
I once ask my father why he couldn’t give my mother the love that she craved. Why he was so damn mean. Yes, I said those words because, I was trying to understand love, even then. My father explained “Neat, I fell in love once, in Germany, I loved her and she didn’t want to leave her home and I can never love the same again. I love your mom but, it’s just different. love is complex. We are all different. We give what we can. Go do your homework and breathe a little. Relax”
That’s what he left me with. Bud Nunley wisdom at it’s best.
We love different people different ways. We give different people different pieces of ourselves. We give different friends different pieces of ourselves. This doesn’t mean we are chameleons or that we are liars or fake. It means that we are more comfortable talking about certain pieces of our soul with other souls. We get one life. One.
Find the soul you want to love and spend the most time with and go live your time with that one if they want to spend the most time with you. If they don’t? Be prepared to go it alone. That’s ok too.
Love and be love.
That is my goal.
Peace Love and Chicken grease. xo
Love, Neat xo