[personal profile] floorpigeon
So here is something I don't know: at what point does narrative shift from 'story-telling' to 'self-definition', and how does one become more conscious about navigating the realm in between fiction, ideals and 'self-talk', or the ongoing narrative we all have with ourselves that often gets so degraded. That is, there seems to be a range between idealism (impersonal self-talk) and the sort of thing that cognitive-behavioral therapists work with. Figuring out where is a good place to park one's idea of 'values' is kind of complicated, in that context. 'Personal values' seem to exist in some weird shifting no-man's-land between the realm of psychiatry, religion and fiction. And I would certainly include one's ideas about romantic love in 'personal values', and that's particularly thorny especially since some would say romantic love is itself a form of fiction (even in real life). That is to say, they'd say it's a combination of hormones and fiction.

I obviously disagree-- or at least, I'm obviously a romantic, so disagreeing would seem congruent with my basic idea of self or personal value-system. At the same time, when I see a woman write an advice columnist that she's given up on love, except she can't imagine a life "without romantic love", or a self-described idealistic man write a personal ad saying he wants to "fall in love", I pause. Whatever the value-system behind their brand of romantic idealism, it's not mine.

I want love, and I love Love, but the idea of looking for it seems beyond grotesque to me. Companionship, sex, connection, understanding-- yes. But looking for love? Further, looking to be in love? Never. I guess it's just that love is my favorite thing, the closest idea I have to faith, to grace, or to virtue. But to seek it seems too close to wanting to own it, to define it as an experience to be attained, sort of like some watered-down happiness or organized religion. I don't know, it seems diluted, forced.

Of course, this is my self-talk, in part because I explain away my rejecting people and their equally valid choices. To them, love is a practice (much like religion may be), whereas to me it is almost sullied by practice, being an abstract faith, a fiction. What I love, ultimately, may be fiction itself.
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floorpigeon: (Default)
the one who stumbled

January 2015

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