I’ve had requests from my burgeoning fans to write more bloggy stuff. So off I blog. And apologies to those people who mostly read the school-related posts – I have feminine feelings and whatnot to gush about.
As you’ll recall from my other romantically-inclined posts (newish and oldish), my “love life” has yet to begin, as it were. In fact, only this week, I was directed by several people to online dating sites for various populations. So I take that to mean that either I seem to be a depressed and lonely creature, or people really think I should just take a shot in the dark. Because who knows? lucasfanboy1999 might just be my soulmate. Or a serial killer. Or a podiatrist.
But I digress. The point is, I’m afraid I’ve been thinking. (You: “A dangerous pastime.” Me: “I know.”) About what? Oh, I’m tickled you asked.
What drives us to love? Especially amid the hustle and bustle of medical school, it’s hard to imagine a place for that lovey-dovey, ooey-gooey kind of love you see sprouting all over campus come mid-February. Not a lot of romance holding hands over a cadaver, I’m afraid to say. Can’t see it after 24 hours on call, either, when you’re ready to snap at the next person who so much as blinks in your general direction. “WHAT YOU STARIN’ AT, BLINKY?” <twitch twitch> The rational person would say, there’s absolutely no way for two people to fall madly in love under those kinds of conditions. But we still look for it anyway, don’t we?
Especially for somebody like me, who has no concept of The Real Deal, never mind experiencing it for myself… why do I feel pressured to seek out love? Excuse me, I meant Love. Is it those female pheromones kicking in? Meh. That maternal instinct beginning to emerge? Not bloody likely. Or is it something unique to my (slightly kooky) persona? Something intrinsically, inevitably, unequivocally me?
I suspect it may come out of reading so much, watching so much film, going to so much theatre… something you’ll find in every story ever told is love. Not always Love, per say, but love, yes. And, if I may be so arrogant, I think I’ve picked up a few things on what makes someone a lover. That gentle touch, the sensitive side, the inquisitive and suggestive glance.
But more importantly, I’ve also picked up on what makes someone a Lover. Not just a romantic lover. A Lover of life. Of anything and everything, of great or little consequence, over great spans of time or the briefest of moments. Someone who sees snow sparkling in the sunshine and can’t help but stop in wonder. Someone who cherishes the passing of years and the gift of wisdom they carry. Someone who feels not a pang of regret, but a lancing pain.
And dammit, I’m a Lover.
It really is part of my nature. I couldn’t change it even if I tried. Not that I see a reason to. Yes, you can catch me standing in the glitter of a fresh snowfall, just basking in the radiance of it all. Yes, I look back over the last few years and feel immense gratitude for the new knowledge, maturity, and perspective they’ve given me. Yes, I feel a deep ache when I remember the mistakes I’ve made that have hurt others, as well as myself. Yes, I feel inexorably drawn to the sharp, bookish looks, sweet demeanour, and shocking blue eyes that belong to Benedict Cumberbatch. Those angular features, that immediacy of intelligence…
Sorry, what were we talking about?
And that propensity for passion… I think that’s what makes me stop, think, and hold love (not Love) at arm’s length. Because I’m not sure what I’ll do when it hits me. Right now, my best guess is that I’ll fall prey to my own affections and push reason aside, clinging to every moment of shared warmth. It’s only too easy to picture myself, able to tick off his hundred fatal character flaws, recount all the times he’s betrayed my trust, name every time he’s disappointed me… and still forgive. Still Love.
Sounds crazy, right?
I don’t expect everyone to totally get it. These are the overactive brainwaves of a chick who’s watched Pride and Prejudice a few too many times. (Matthew Macfayden: I heart you. Call me. Or Benedict, whoever’s free. I’m not choosy.)
So for now, for sanity’s sake, I watch the sun dancing on the snow. And hope I don’t fall for an asshat.
Photo courtesy of: Clare Bloomfield | FreeDigitalPhotos.net