There Might Be A Frog
Revisiting ways to expand our ideas about love this Valentine's Day
No fairytales. No grand gestures, ghosts or meant-to-bes. Not here.
(There might be a frog).
But no war disguised as passion. No bombing in the name of love.
Here, there are no magic promises. The door opens normally. The hinges stay in place. This house does not move in the night.
The man you meet does not become a bear. The woman you encounter does not fit into glass shoes.
At the end of the story, the frog is still a frog. (Which is statistically much better for global biodiversity).
42, Single and Failed?
It is that time of year. Once again, businesses work hard to remind me that I have failed for not yet finding a life partner. I am 42. Yet, weirdly, at 42, I feel much more at ease with being single than I have at any other time of my life.
For a long time, I felt being single was a situation to be corrected. I spent Valentine’s days in remote parts of Myanmar, depressed that I didn’t have a date. I was convinced that partnership was the reward for all of my struggles. And on Februarys when I was in relationships, I don’t have any memories of the day as romantic, special or fun.
I have learned a lot from seeking romantic love. From trying to make relationships work.
It has also taught me what it means to be a woman in our society.
But, more often, I have felt more loved when those relationships failed.
By the care friends and family showed me when I had nowhere to live after moving countries for a partner and then being unceremoniously dumped.
Or in the process of learning yoga and studying for a master’s degree after crawling away from an abusive engagement. Or in tending to my creative ideas, writing poems, a novel, this newsletter.
What form would love take if we let it run wild?
These days, I am more interested in all the ways love shows up around me (and how I can show up in the world with love).
I love the idea of love as multi-coloured, with an array of characters, tones and hues. I no longer feel like my life choices lead down a singular path to only one romantic dream.
Rather, I wonder, what form would love take if we grew it for ourselves? If we let it run wild rampage over our lives, like a weed in fertile soil?
If we stopped looking for love in empty shells, which look like love should look, but don’t feel like love should feel?
If it wasn’t so taboo to talk about love in businesses, governments and workspaces, if it wasn’t a word which only shows up in romance? Our English language vocabulary limited to a few passionate nouns and verbs.
What would we call the love of talking to the stars?
How do we celebrate the love of people who tend to undecorated houses, make old vans beautiful and save plants from dying?
How can we cultivate the momentary love of strangers: making tea for visitors on mountaintops, the people who make us laugh waiting at bus stops?
What do we call the love of talking to the moon, the stars, the street cats, our houseplants and ourselves in kind ways?
How can we reward the love of loving ourselves enough to walk away from unkind, abusive situations? What do we call the love for the children we did not have?
What is the name for the love when we tend to our artworks, when we spend time with others peoples’ creations?
What can we call the love of learning our global histories, our ancestors’ lost practices, the inner languages of caring for our own hearts?
Tell Me
Are there unexpected ways love has grown in your life?
What type of love would you like to see more of in the world? What names would you give it?
How do you reframe love it never feel it is in short supply?
Let’s love our imaginations and creative power this Valentine’s Day.
Love, love, love
Friends,
Firstly, thank you for being here. I am grateful for our journey together through difficult terrains. It has been a hard week, but the sun is out in Glasgow today which feels like a massive miracle.
So I thought I would take a break to revive and update this post (which a few of you might remember from last year), as it still rings true to me this time around.
If this has sparked some romance in your life, then here are some ways you can share your appreciation:
You can heart this post.
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You can fuel this newsletter with some love.
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That’s all friends,
Catriona
A lot of thoughts bubbling in my head as I read this lovely piece.
Some of this is probably too personal, so feel free to ignore them - I'm putting this out in public so that others might weigh in.
re: "Once again, businesses work hard to remind me that I have failed for not yet finding a life partner. I am 42. Yet, weirdly, at 42, I feel much more at ease with being single than I have at any other time of my life."
How widespread, I wonder, is the belief that not finding a life partner by a certain age is considered a failure? Is there societal pressure - still - to find a partner? Maybe my perspective is skewed because of my own life events, but I'm curious as to how many people in their 30s, 40s, 50s, etc feel like failures for not finding their partner (yet).
I'll be half a century old later this year (I can't bring myself to type the number) and I see my divorce as more of a success than a failure. And all my love, as cheesy as this sounds, goes into my daughter and that's all I need. Does having kids play a factor?
One of these days I want to put together a piece with a range of perspectives from people who do not have children, whether by choice or other circumstances. Is being childless also considered failure? (many of these are rhetorical, no need to answer!)
I might get carried away here, so I'll just leave you with this little ditty: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYsACdyMxRs&list=RDgYsACdyMxRs&start_radio=1
I love the concept of the “momentary love of strangers”. So many forms love rakes and we do ourselves, partnered or not, a disservice in celebrating only one at the exclusion of all others.