Love & Adventure

I was on the phone with my dear friend Kate Havard last night and she mentioned that Moonstruck is her favorite film because of its pure depiction of eros. I’ve long loved the way that Greeks have captured different flavors of love, and this Yale University lecture is, I think, the best explanation of the ‘triangular theory of love’ which is my favorite model to explain relational bonding.

It was—charmingly—shot on Valentine’s Day, and includes a moment when the professor realizes two people in the front of the lecture hall are holding hands with one another. It is a lecture imbued with optimism and hope—and even as there is an attempt to strip down affection to chemical components (dates where people consume caffeine are more likely to be reported a success in mutual attraction!)--something ineffable remains.

My friend Alo Johnston, a very good therapeutic clinician and a genuinely kind person, says “love is a common miracle” and I adore that description. It seems impossible, to find mutuality on enough fronts to join in a narrative of togetherness, and shift one’s life from a trajectory of independence to one of an agreeable level of mutuality—and yet, it happens all the time.

________

I’m feeling quote-y today. Here’s another one that swirls around in my head. My father told me of a friend who lived a sort of vagabond life, endless anecdotes of near death experiences, treks to uninhabited lands. When my father asked him how he’d happened upon such a life the response was: “I figure we all get to have about as much adventure as we choose for ourselves.” I heard that story when I was quite little, and the meaning that I extracted from it was that it was important to choose adventure, as much as possible.

Only—my version of adventure has been somewhat vicarious. Sure, I take trips, but my preference is always to visit a place where friends have already settled. That way I can land somewhere that is simultaneously foreign and familiar, and have the inside track on the best bits to explore, guided by someone who knows what tickles my fancy.

And rather than dedicate myself to every field that pulls my interest (there simply wouldn’t be enough time!) I have, again and again, by some subconscious impulse, dated or befriended someone doing work that I find interesting, and asked them all the questions that I have. Actors, musicians, directors, scientists, writers, one comedian. Some version of me makes an appearance in at least six songs and one film that's gotten distribution. But all the while I'm playing muse I'm really collecting data.

There’s a ridiculous repository of information in my head and I have no idea what to do with it. Maybe sharing it isn’t really the point, maybe I just like having insider secrets. But the secrets aren’t all that secret, not really. The overarching themes are simple, and well-trod. People at the top of any field are mostly lonely and always full of doubt. Nobody who’s excellent recognizes that in themselves, they continue striving. They have these visions of who they want to be, but they seem far off, they never land, even if they’re already heading up missions to mars or getting profiled in Forbes for building a business that's saving the ocean or starring in action franchises.

They find a way to love the work itself. There is some separation between the version of them with doubts and the persona they present to the public. And almost all of them are well aware of the fact that they disappoint the people closest to them because the work is more important to them than human relationships.

I think all of this is very silly. It’s predicated on a belief system that recognizes other human beings as draining rather than nourishing. And it doesn’t seem to recognize that there are lots of relationships that have established dynamics of mutual independence—the sort that sustain through a war or long stretches of research in the arctic or whatever else. They just require decent communication skills and clarity about definitions of fidelity—trust that there’s something solid to return to.

Anyway, I’ve always dated cowboys. Long stretches at the loft alone while Jim is off building security systems to fight pirates along the strait of Malacca. A man who took an apartment in LA just to be with me, who wanted to have children together, but always felt pulled to projects abroad. It’s always the same, really. The men who have my heart have wandering souls. And then, periodically, the pattern is punctuated by dalliances that are dynamically erotic, like I’m working something out in my psyche through the crucible of pleasure. (More on that another time...)

________

I fell into the whole astrology writing thing by accident. I didn’t even realize that’s what all the newsletters have been about until my friend Meredith asked me why I’d decided to begin, and someone else hired me to read their chart. I’m not even sure I believe in astrology. But I fell into the habit of tracking planetary movements when I was taking a course on Hermetic magic, and it’s such a useful entry point for exploring psychological themes that I haven’t really stopped.

Venus retrograde began on December 19th, and I thought about writing something up for the occasion. I had a very different opinion of how it would unfold than anything I was reading online. I thought about how in many traditions the body is used as a map for emotions, how the front and the back of the heart chakra have very different metaphorical interpretations. To be with the front of the heart center is to focus upon generative love, upon giving. To be with the back of the heart is to open yourself up to receptivity. That is the theme I’ve been intentionally working with since the start. My sibling gifted me some of those temporary tattoos that last about a month, and among them were all of the planets in our solar system. I asked them to tattoo Venus to the back of my heart, and they did. So it’s been there, with me, reminding me to receive.

And as in all the intentions I’ve ever set for ceremonial journeys, I find my answer, and it comes to me sideways.

Things fell apart with a man who was phoning me each evening to say goodnight. I’ve been questioning whether the steadiest friendships I’ve had in the pandemic were built upon shaky foundations. I made inquiries with trauma therapists that went unanswered.

In contrast---my family has been fantastic. I’ve spent a lot of time playing Scrabble with my mother. Lunch with my father. Last night all three of us stayed up so late we were punchy with laughter, making puns and singing silly made-up songs. This is, for me, a miracle. If you know the history you know it, if you don’t, you don’t. Things were complicated. Complicated enough that I moved out in high school. I won’t elaborate more than that at this time, it doesn’t seem wise to articulate past pains when they are mended. What I want to say is that it is a miracle that they are mended. It is a thing I never thought I would have, and I am grateful to have it.

So—for me—the retrograde has been a success. Healing in unexpected places. Awareness of what I’m up to in other domains. There is a season for all things, and while I long for the consummate love that melds erotic passion with familiarity and commitment (that’s true love in the triangular theory) I have my own missions to pursue, and I’m not compromising on the way that I frame them. That’s a thing that happens, when I’m partnered. These ambitious men have ideas about the image of the person they’re connected with, and start fretting about how I’ll affect their reputation—like I’m an accessory rather than someone with important work to do. It is quite useful have my freedom. Some day I hope to have a romantic bond that can support it.

I’ll do my work and see who joins with me in the space where I authentically land. Anything else would be merely the ghost of love.