I’m fascinated by a Beatles song called “I Will”.
Who knows how long I’ve loved you?
You know I love you still.
Will I wait a lonely lifetime?
If you want me to, I will.
For if I ever saw you
I didn’t catch your name
but it never really mattered
I will always feel the same.
Love you forever and forever
Love you with all my heart.
Love you whenever we’re together
Love you when we’re apart.
And when at last I find you
Your song will fill the air
Sing it loud so I can hear you
Make it easy to be near you
And the things you do endear you to me
Oh, you know I will
The song seems to support the idea that there is someone for everyone, out there, somewhere – and that whether or not you’ve met, you’re already in love and always will be.
How can you love someone you haven’t met yet? How can you be willing to “wait a lonely lifetime” for this one particular person? What about the theory that there are SEVERAL someone’s?
If there are several someone’s, it would seem I’ve squandered all of mine. I sometimes wonder, did I give up on love, or did love give up on me? Was it really MY decision to be done with all that, or did the Universe decide that I’d had my chance(s) and blew it?
Being thrown into a chemo-induced state of early menopause at the ripe old age of 33 might have had something to do with it, too. I felt decidedly unattractive during and after chemo. You never know how much you depend upon your hair to feel attractive until it’s gone. After it grew out and I was feeling better about myself, I noticed that … no one was noticing. Not any more. I used to have some fun turning heads walking down the streets of Manhattan in my Victoria’s Secret power suits with a hemline up to THERE. But after chemo, after it had been confirmed that I was no longer child-bearing material, that all ended.
Did I look all that different? Not really. But it was like they knew – all the guys that used to wink, smile and wolf-whistle, they KNEW, somehow, that I could not process their DNA into little legacy beings for them, and they looked right through me. Maybe it’s pheromones? You know, like the little ant scouts that find food and send a chemical signal, and the next thing you know all their little friends are on your doorstep. Maybe the chemical signal dies with menopause. Or maybe it was more of a psychic signal, a change in my own attitude, that put them off.
It was a bit hard to swallow, and baffling too. But of course, not everyone is interested in procreating, and there were still dates to be had, just not with the wolf-whistlers. After a good run of disappointments, I decided to hang it up once and for all. I was done. All the energy and angst, for what, exactly? Was it better than being on my own? No, I can honestly say, it wasn’t.
So now, every time I hear “I Will”, I have to wonder. Is this person REALLY out there, unknown, but already loved, already loving me? Have I passed him on the street, or maybe bumped carts with him at the supermarket?
Can love REALLY start before you have ever met the person? 1 Corinthians 13 tells us that love is this, that, and the other thing, and that it abides. It endures, it continues… I guess the assumption here is “forever”, that love is infinite. Which means not only does it abide into the future, but it must also abide into the past, with no alpha or omega. Kind of like God.
If I never meet this person, or if I have met him but did not recognize him – if I must “wait a lonely lifetime”… then how can this love be real to me, and what was/is the purpose of its alleged existence? Or is it all just a crock?
Which brings me to the title of this post, inspired by Pink Floyd this time – is there anybody… OUT THERE?
I’ve got more questions about love than answers. As usual. As always and “forever and forever” 😉 And if anyone has an answer – even a partial answer – I’m listening!