In maturity, I realize that love and war are pretty similar. They are both the result of passion. Both very personal. Both the impetus of emotional turmoil. One is supposedly man-made while the other is more divine, thus creating an innate preference for one over the other, however they both involve strategy.
Love (as in war) is similar to the ultimate chess match. How much do you expose your inner most self (the queen) by letting your guard down (pawns)? In love, both parties want to win, but in most cases the desired result isn’t exactly the same because winning somehow supersedes the driving force. I have loved several times since I was 20, and although I wished for a different result, situations ended up just as convoluted from relationship to relationship.
I realize the common denominator is my lack of continual strategy. I dislike the game. I think something as pure as love should be more straightforward. I shouldn’t show up to a relationship expecting a representative of a man because they are afraid to be transparent, all the while I stay protected because I don’t want to be hurt.
We spend the entire relationship running away from what we were running toward in the first place. Its insanity. Similar insanity fuels war everyday: The fight for space, for who is right, for independence. And in the end we end up with battle scars. Some of which we will never heal from. Our very identity becomes permanently altered in this heart-wrenching chess game.
The difference between 20 and 30 is that I can now articulate what I don’t like. I believe I am as ready as I am mature enough for love, at its truest essence. The war that it has evolved into, I have yet to embrace. I have no idea where that leaves me. The saddest part? I know I am in good company…