What Even is Love
Love is possessive. It carries more than one name, and it manifests itself in many different ways. It could characterize my relationship with the natural world or my feelings for another person, or even how I view myself. I did not expect to be writing about love. The emotion comes and goes, generally with a passiveness. I find myself thinking of what I would love to do for a profession, as opposed to a more traditional conception of love and my relationship to another person. As of now, I do not have much interest in a love that involves another and I, despite my desire to work in an field that epitomizes altruism. I do not know if this is weird, but I find myself feeling that I really do not want to be loved by anyone, or for someone to have emotions for me. It is too possessive for me. An interesting thought that comes to mind is whether or not I am actually able to handle the responsibility of caring for another person in such a manner. I do not want to characterize myself as being emotionally estranged, but I find myself contemplating this with some frequency. And each time I think of it, I somehow reach the conclusion that I cannot see myself with anyone for the rest of my life. Despite how depressing of a thought that is, I do not feel so down and out about it. I feel there are enough people in the world to satisfy whatever requirements or characteristics that one might want to find in a partner. Really, I feel as though this may be what I find in nature. It is the space where I don’t feel the need to be loved back. I feel as though when I am in nature, all aspects of love that I look for are present. It fulfills something that I like. It is variable, changing. There are no expectations. There is just life.