Love and aging.
I came up with a new theory of love, the romantic kind, while talking with Michael H. at a party. Michael is a talented, handsome, quiet gay man who should have been in a long term relationship. He’s just that kind of good guy. But the world being what it is, he is not. And I am just that kind of person who should never be in a long term relationship, and consequently, have not. I guess we are two sides of a certain coin. But as I was talking, cuz, he is the kind of person that politely lets my kind of person rant on, I began to form a theory. I imagine that it is as with most of my theories, rooted half in real science and half in my hopeful imagination.
Here is the theory:
When human beings are young we are biologically programmed to perpetuate the species. This function is obviously important. However, because of cultural changes certain urges that were once seen as positive, can become a negative (current desire for monogamy). But that isn’t really the direction I was talking about with Michael. When we are young we experience falling in love. We do that to insure we will couple with an appropriate partner to, say it with me, complete the biological imperative: perpetuate the species. When we do find love (a combination of pheromones, unconscious sizing up etc.) we want to stay with that person (and here it doesn't matter that we are gay and may not reproduce). Love has occurred and we like it, love is a drug (thank you Bryan Ferry), and keeping the habit up is what we want to do.
Then life comes crashing in, harshing our high. We get bored somehow (someone cheats, dies, moves, goes to prison) and that relationship ends.
But, we never lose our primary directive: perpetuate the species by falling in love. Romantic love is thrown at us from every direction. There is even a special day dedicated to it.
Now to the meat of this dish-when a person, such as myself, is moving through the decades of life, and finds herself single, she, I, want exactly the same thing as when I was 22. I want that rush of air, that flush of cheeks and other parts. I want time to become unimportant. Friendships and responsibilities to be shirked. I want all this because I am still caught in the biological trap, ironic tho it is. And as much as I tell myself that those things don’t matter anymore, because I am not in need of the same things, the notion of romantic love has burrowed itself in my head like a virus ready to attack any sensible chance at a sexual connection. And thus, unless the odds (age+sexuality+location+availability+that soupcon of je ne sais quoi) change, I can predict a life of solo sexual adventure. I am ever so thankful that there are still a few people willing to call themselves my friend. It might be a lonely time if they weren’t!
