It is remarkable to me that life is as sometimes as mysterious and repetitive as it is.
Witness: Another friend, having recently gone through a divorce and with a number of children, has just rekindled a relationship with his girlfriend of almost 30 years ago. This is a thing which, if I thought about it, is too much to be believed. Ah, the power of Facebook.
Love is an odd thing. I've now in my mid-forties, and I've yet to really understand it. Some of the mysteries which I think may be esoteric:
1) What happens to the true romantic over time? At what point does that get crushed out in the word in which we live and the circumstances we confront?
2) How is it we can instantly be back in love with people we've not seen for years, while we too often sputter with the people we have been with for years?
3) What is love really? If it's a verb instead of a noun, how do prevent it from becoming a duty? And if it's a noun instead of a verb, how do you practice it?
4) How is it that people that are together have such different interpretations of what love is and how it is practiced?
5) Given hopelessly romantic me of 30 years ago or experienced, tired and exasperated (but responsible) me of today, which would I truly rather be?
All pretty questions of course and probably worth the thought I will give them on my way to work. But maybe, just for today, I'll revel in the fact that somewhere love is still working in it's mysterious way: beyond time, beyond reason, beyond geography.
Because in the end, it's sort of difficult to logically explain it anyway.