Extra! Extra! It’s A Guest Post!

Today, my wonderful people we have a guest post ( because you couldn’t tell from the title.) One of my oldest friends asked if I would post this blog that he wrote in tribute of his beautiful wife in honor of their 20 year (!) anniversary. Of course I said yes. First because I admire his wife greatly, and also because I know that Matt would break me out of jail in a foreign country, even after all these years. So to Matt, happy anniversary, and thank you for contributing, now take it away.

What Is Love (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)

Love, one of America’s least favorite four-letter words, is a very divisive, if not passionate, subject. People either love it, hate it, or fear it. Depending on your source, love can be many different things. According to singer/songwriter Pat Benatar, “Love is a battlefield.” Author Han Suyin said that “Love is a many-splendored thing.” The Beatles proclaimed that “All you need is love,” while Jane Austin wrote that “To love is to burn, to be on fire” (Author’s note: If your love burns, please consult with a medical professional). According to the Bible, “Love is patient, love is kind, it does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud” (1 Corinthians 13:4-5). Of course, the Bible also declares that “Happy is the one who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks” (Psalms 137:9), so maybe the Bible isn’t the best source material here. Even though we are bombarded with the concept of love starting in early childhood—love is in movies, television, music, and the arts—all of us struggle for most of our lives to seek, to find, and to answer the deceptively simple question, “What is love?” 

Two decades ago, even though I had stopped looking, love found me. At first, love was passion and warmth: a picnic on the beach, a romantic evening out, a nervous kiss. Then, before I knew it, love was a sleepless night, pining for my better half. Love was a trip across the ocean, damn the expense. Love was an endless phone call in the middle of the night, damn the expense. Love was dreaming about the future while slogging through the present. Sometimes love was anger that they didn’t meet your expectations; at other times, love was disappointment because you failed to meet your own. As time progressed, I began to realize that love didn’t always have to be so dramatic (or melodramatic).

 Love can be slowly drifting off to sleep lying next to each other, carefully avoiding any physical contact because it’s way too hot for any of that nonsense. Love can be a lazy day together, mindlessly watching TV and never changing out of pajamas. But most importantly, love can be all the little things we never really think about but do anyway: making them a toothbrush at the same time you make yours, taking the kids to appointments without being asked or told, or bringing them a cup of coffee in the middle of the workday because you happened to be in the neighborhood.

 In the movies, on television, on the radio, and on the stage, we’re led to believe that love is some sort of profound, sweeping gesture: a frenetic series of events that sweeps a person off their feet, frequently accentuated by singing or dancing. In other words, according to Hollywood, love is an action verb. But here the real world, while love tends to start out as an action verb, true, lasting love is a linking verb—its absence is more noticeable than its presence, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there, or that it’s not important.

 For some, love’s slow evolution from action verb to linking verb is lost in translation, leading to the infamous “seven-year itch.” For others, this evolution-in-meaning is like a favorite food, a favorite outfit, or a favorite blanket: just because it isn’t exciting and new doesn’t mean it can’t bring you joy year after year. 

Twenty years ago today, as the officiant proudly commanded, “Kiss that woman, she’s your wife,” the merciless flow of time trickled to a halt. In that moment, as I nervously locked eyes with my beloved bride, nothing else mattered. I could have lived in that moment for the rest of my life—without food, without water, without breath—sustained only by this feeling that shrouded my body, nourishing my soul. In that moment, there was no past, present, or future: there is only love. While love, like beauty, may be in the eye of the beholder, real, lasting love just “is,” and maybe, that’s all we needo