Way back when phrenology was considered a legitimate science someone decided to draw a map of a woman’s heart because goddess knows, way back nearly 200 years ago, women were considered intellectually inferior little bundles of emotion and scheming and petulance and prettiness and clearly, only a map could provide enough information to an intrepid adventurer, traveler or navigator of women.
Looking at this map today and putting aside its fun and historical factors, I’m struck by a number of cultural beliefs suggested by this map. Let me call them delusions:
Delusion #1. That one woman’s heart is every woman’s heart.
Delusion #2. That what’s in one woman’s heart is every woman’s heart in equal measure.
Delusion #3. That a woman’s heart is what drives her behaviour.
Delusion #4. That every woman has a heart.
Hmm. Some beliefs haven’t changed much have they?
All those women who love women and know that no two women — and no two loves — are the same but wish women were more predictable and therefore more the same, raise your hands.
All those women who love women but are confused that no two women — and no two loves — are the same yet find themselves constantly frustrated by how women can be so different from each other and from you — raise your hands.
All those women who love women and know and accept and cherish and revel in the fact that no two women and no two loves are the same, raise your glasses of bubbly, nibble on your little piece of dark and tasty chocolate (or her ear) and smile knowingly at yourself. There is nothing cooler on the planet than a woman who loves a woman for who and how she is.
Love’s the easy part. Two electromagnetic fields coming into contact with each other. Some kind of a pull. Something to explore or ignore or visit from time to time or bring home and live with for the rest of your days. Love and loving and sharing a bathroom: the not-so-easy part.
And yet? For some people Love with a capital L is nothing but a word, a word in vogue, a trend, a currency in circulation, a form of punctuation like quotation marks, commas, misplaced apostrophes and overused, exhausted exclamation marks. Enough of that nonsense!
Time to take Love with a capital L back from all the misusers and disbelievers and naysayers and counterfeiters and word waterdowners. Time to say that Love will not be pushed to the sidelines by cheap imitations like I lerve you, I❤ U! Luv ya! swirling about in a world of people appreciating a real Love thing.
(and because I’m reading Marguerite Duras…)
Listen with your unique woman’s heart, a woman who loves women, on Valentines Day for starters and every day after that. Listen and let Love with a capital L be.
Let Love with a capital L and all of its offspring (love and loving) speak to you in its own way, with its own words, with its own sounds and its own touch and its own feeling. Hear Love on the wind and in the rain and in the sun and the smell of the sand or the earth, in the waves on the shore, or the sound of coffee or tea being made, or a quiet moment of pure solitude, or a cuddle with a cat or a dog or a kid or a friend or her, or the sensation as she slips her fingers between yours as you head out of the cafe, or the warm breath that’s in the space just before that shared kiss with her or the phone call to say hello from a friend on a day that’s not going so well, or the funny commercial when you need a laugh, or the cute woman you see on the street that makes your own (woman’s) heart go RAWR. Let Love be. Let Love be on Valentine’s Day, for starters and every day after that in whatever form it takes in the world around you.
You know who you are, love.