There is a piece of general knowledge in this world that goes something like this:

You can’t help who you fall in love with.

I can’t quite remember the first person that ever said this to me, and I, of course, abhor the fact that it ends in a preposition, but I know that it has been said either to me or around me several times in my life. Sometimes it is in reference to a tragic love or a wildly mismatched couple or it can be in regards to something as innocuous as bringing home a stray dog. The tone of the phrase is always the same, though: somewhere between amazement and warning.

What I can tell you is that this statement is only slightly more true than it is absurd. It’s one of those things that you go through your childhood sort of taking at face value, then during your teenage years it becomes one of the most idiotic things you’ve ever heard in your entire life, and then, later on, you start to completely and fully understand it. It’s like reading a good book, and then, a few break-ups/romantic episodes/career changes/years later, you read it all over again and you realize that you never truly understood it until now. Sure, at face value it is bollocks, but it is said too often to be ignored for long.

I imagine that when the time comes where I will be looking at this piece of wisdom from the far end of the party, I might say that it is not only true but, perhaps especially in my particular circumstances, it’s been the main thing that I’ve counted on to keep me going. That is, without the randomly placed love of people who have floated into and either stuck around or floated on out of my life, I wouldn’t be the person you see before you. I might have turned out alright, but something deep and dark in the back of my mind tells me that I’d most likely be dead, jailed, or, worse, alone.

But perhaps I’m not as special in this regard as I like to think. There are stories of people who reached out a helping hand at just the right moment, helped carry a loner’s books home from school on the day he/she was planning on committing suicide, or gave a bum a second chance at life with a few dollars and encouraging words.

The root of it, though, is happenstance. Being in the right place at the right time, the will means nothing when fate casts it’s eye on you. Chemical reaction in the brain or cupid’s arrow, whichever you choose to believe in, there’s no denying the power that entwines one life with another. I can only laugh in amusement when I look around and see who still talks to me, even after all the horrible things I’ve said out of old-fashioned idiocy, even after making a horrible mess in a friend’s backyard geranium planter due to excessive drinking, even after that one time I had that amazing weekend where my boss was killed by the mob and I had to pretend that he was alive with my best friend’s help and we landed in all sorts of shenanigans… wait, I’m not so sure that happened to me.

Even after breaking hearts that I truly meant not to, just because I wasn’t thinking, there is something comforting in knowing that many people will simply understand. Many will continue showing you love, offering help, and will always say yes when you ask them to be one of your personal references on a job application. In fact, some will often offer to lie outright to your prospective employer.

There is magic in this strange thing called love, untold treasure to be found in friendship, and worthwhile kindness in the hearts of many strangers.

I suppose it also helps that I’m really fantastic in bed.

Tags: cheeky, love, mushy, weekend at bernie's

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 14th, 2009 at 8:00 am and is filed under Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.