With ‘Memory’ as my theme for the A to Z Blogging Challenge, I’ve been working my way through the alphabet this month. For each letter, I think ‘what can I recall about B or K or H’ and so on, and fairly quickly a word pops into my head. So far I’ve been able to run with that word, write a short piece and line it up to be published.
With the letter L, I have found that process nearly impossible. There are some obvious choices, love being the first of those.
Lately, I’ve been looking at love differently than I have in the past. I’ve begun to feel very strongly that love in all its forms should be unconditional, and strictly so. It’s become essential to me to learn how to love people for who they honestly are rather than for what they may be able to do or provide for me, or questioning what needs of my own do they meet. I’m sorry, I don’t think that’s just me either; it’s something we’ve all been guilty of at some point and at some level. We should be honest about it, and evaluate those choices in our histories to get past that subconsciously selfish approach to love.
Love, real love, is utterly selfless.
Not just romantic love but all love, including the love we feel for our family, friends, our neighbours, for complete strangers, for everyone if we can manage it. But there’s a big essay there, and it’s one I really want to write well later. Plus, it doesn’t fit into my ‘theme’.
Another choice for me would be to write about Liverpool. I lived there for just over three years while I was studying Drama at university. The old Dickens ‘Best of times, worst of times’ cliche comes to mind here. The thing is, those three and bit years were so crazy, that I couldn’t possibly pick just one incident to write about, not briefly anyway. My years in Liverpool are a book, and the city itself – a beautiful, cruel, creative, soulful place. Vast. Too many memories.
Other ‘L’ words…
Lust, Lisbon, Luck, Lake, Llamas… Llamas! I have a Llama story – in Cusco, Peru. My ex-husband, well he…
No, I’ll leave that poor guy alone now. He took a hammering in Amsterdam, and he wasn’t so bad really. I just hadn’t figured out about the unconditional love thing back then. I hadn’t figured out about commitment. I hadn’t figured out about making sure it was right in the first place. Back then, love seemed almost dispensable, because selfish love is dispensable.
I think I’ll leave him in peace with his Llamas in my memory tonight. Write about something else.
I’ll write about something beginning with M, and publish it tomorrow.