Love is something we discuss with others (or at least should). We point to it, demand and laud it. But what is it?
Are all loves the same? When we teach our kids about love, we explain it in a way that encourages them to think on it as if it were a timeless sort of thing. It is exists as some sort of truth, as if any deviation from it represents a failure on their respective part.
What if love is a construct? What if how we experience love results from cultural constructs that reinforce a worldview, a theory about human life? What if love is not a definitive thing at all, but rather itself a theory that frames our experience in a way that allows us to try and make sense of it?
Are all loves the same? Do you love the same way now as you did 20 years ago? Is what you felt 20 years ago not love? In 20 years, what will you think about how you love now?
Perhaps love is only defined in context and in relationship with others and, in turn, our very selves. Is love a verb? Is it a noun? Is it necessarily something we can satisfactorily describe in words to others?
Is love the ability to answer the demands of others in the ways they say they need? What if we think their worldview is wrong? Is love the ability to do for others in the way they need even if it contradicts our own views? Is that love, or is that disturbing?
Is your version of love better than mine? Can we both be correct? Do we love the same way and for the same reasons in all circumstances?
Which kinds of loves matter? What if they all matter? Do all loves ask us to do the same thing(s). Love may indeed be real, but perhaps it exists in the plural, which may in fact call into question whether any of us exactly understand when another says, “I love you.”
