I like organization. I like strategy. I like knowing that X will get me from A to B. I like knowing that 1 plus 2 will give me 3. I like answers. I like reason. I think we all, to some extent, like reason. It keeps the world going. It solidifies a foundation that has stood the test of time because of its unfailing and unbroken nature. If there’s no confusion, it’s explicit. If it’s explicit, it must be correct.
WE ALL WANT THINGS TO MAKE SENSE.
Which makes the next statement all the more earth-shattering: the best things in life cannot make sense. Let me explain:
You graduate college and you’ve spent ample time building upon your expertise and your resume. You get a job that reflects your hard work. That makes sense.
You graduate college and you’ve spent ample time building upon your expertise and your resume. The economy is bad. You get a job you don’t deserve. That makes sense.
You fall in love with your significantly older, and married, boss. That doesn’t make any sense.
And it shouldn’t.
Why do so many people think it should? The thoughts and the judgements that will go into this are absolutely absurd:
“She’s in love with a woman. Which makes her gay. Which means she has always been gay.”
“He’s in love with a woman 30 years his senior. His mother didn’t love him.”
“She fell in love with a man 20 years younger than she is. She’s just coping with her divorce. She clearly has some self-esteem issues.”
Why does love have to be defined by X, Y and Z? Why do we make it this thing that comes equipped with an imaginary booklet of questions that must be answered? Why are we so obsessed with finding those answers in formulas, forums and the darkest depths of our insecurities? Why do we justify something that occurs so naturally, far from the boundaries of that which we can control?
IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE TO MAKE SENSE OF LOVE.
It just doesn’t. Our bodies tell us who we want to sleep with. Our bodies send us those internal messages and release the chemicals assigned to those we’re attracted to. Our bodies make our hearts race when those people enter the room.
We do not choose the fevers, the pheromones, the mouth-watering and thirst quenching episodes – we do not and cannot choose who we desire, and who we grow to love.
So why do people venture out into the depths of the unknown, and then claim to know what they find? Why do people assign reason to something that lives in a place reason cannot reach?
Maybe it’s a challenge to learn and understand how love works. Maybe it’s a plea to salvage whatever sanity exists after entering the unknown. Maybe we’re simply conditioned to treat love like everything else in our lives.
But it’s time we stop, and just let it be. Because I don’t want to keep finding myself defending a logic that does not exist. I don’t want to keep justifying why I choose the people I choose. I don’t want people to question why I do what I do, and whom I do it with. I want to live a life defined by that which cannot be defined. I want to live a meaningful life by enjoying the twists of fate that are not confined to meaning. I want to live my life in the vicinity of reason, with the quiet comfort of having a little piece of that which reason cannot reach.