Groovy Love

The sixties (2oth century) was a time when lots of young people wore sandals, flowers in their hair and said "peace" and "love" a lot. I ought to know. I was there. I remember some of the more cynical types would decry the widespread use of the word love. It undermines the meaning of the word, they said. It means nothing when it's used so often. You can't love everybody all the time. I heard those sentiments expressed almost as much as I heard "groovy, man." At the time, I was young and stupid, and was influenced by people whom I didn't think were as young as stupid as I, so I believed them when they opined about the overuse of the word Love. Well, I'm sure not young anymore, and I'm not as stupid, either, and
couldn't disagree with those nay-sayers more. So when I hear people make the same complaint now, I have something to say about it.
Expressing love to each other happens a lot more than it did in those days. It must have been some sort of generational thing, but parents didn't verbally express love to their children as much as they do now. So am I supposed to believe that the words of love spoken these days are meaningless because people say them more than they did in previous generations? I don't think so.
What's more, even in the days when it was groovy to say "I love ya, man" (even if you were a woman), the speakers weren't as disingenuous as all the criticism would suggest. There was a cultural revolution going on, and a lot of pot-smoking, draft dodging, free-loving, flower-powered citizens were also actively involved in creating genuine change for the better. It was all about making love and not war.
There are many kinds and degrees of love. If I smile at a stranger in the street - and I do, frequently - I'm spreading a little love. When I say "I love you" to my precious Lulu (the best, most beautiful kitty in the whole wide Universe and beyond) it's not the same as saying it to a human friend or member of the family. But it's still love. Even a sincere, well-timed "thank you" is love. It's love because it's courteous, grateful, thoughtful and compassionate.
There have been occasions when I've shed tears for perfect strangers I've passed in the street. These strangers are obviously sad, lost or infirm in some way, and evoke feelings of compassion in me. That's love. And for sure it's not the same as the love I feel for "loved ones," but it's love nonetheless. Arguing that saying "I love you" frequently and to a lot of people renders it meaningless is like saying that love can be quantified and categorized. Bullshit.
Yesterday I watched a couple of chubby, little sparrows feeding outside the restaurant where I was eating. They were so beautiful and endearing that I felt a surge of - dare I say it? - Love. Yes, it's true. I felt love for a couple of little brown jobs pecking away on the restaurant patio. My eyes moistened, my heart softened, a little smile crossed my face, and a little"ah" escaped my lips as I watched their silly antics. Okay, it's not deep, all-consuming, possessive, I'll-die-if-you-die kind of love, but it's love in my books. When I think of all the times in my life I thought I really loved someone, and was miserable about it, I can honestly say I prefer the love I felt yesterday for my avian friends. In fact, I think it's a much truer form of love, because what I felt was healthy, honest, uncomplicated and restorative.
I'm a spinster. I don't have children. These are choices I've made, and I don't regret them. But that doesn't mean I don't feel or need love. It also means I may not have loved as deeply had I been a mother or a life partner, but I don't regret that either. Whatever love I've felt has been spread around pretty evenly over my life - at least the good, healthy kind of love. I don't have a "best" friend, but I do have friends - quite a few, in fact - and I love them according to whatever role or place they have in my life at any one time. Of those that are nearest and dearest to me, I'm reluctant to say I love one more than the other. Love is not heirarchy or favouritism. Love should break those barriers down, not build them. Love is not finite. A mother will always find more love for her newborn baby, even if she already has children. In the limitless storehouse of love that abides in a mother's soul, there'll always be enough love to go around, no matter how many children she may have. (I realize I'm opening a can of worms here, but I'm not talking about poverty, homelessness, or overpopulation.)
All kinds of love matter. No one kind of love is better than another. It's quite simple, really. Love - the kind of love that is true and inclusive, is enough.
- G. P.