The Dangers of Falling In Love

NO000ooo despite what may be gleaned from my last post, this is not about a person!!1!

     I'd had this blog post in mind for a while, even before my hiatus, and especially before getting involved with the person. This was supposed to be a post about losing one's self in the moment. Being in a place, being of a certain age, and, especially, being of a certain mindset. Being susceptible to becoming so infatuated with the moment that the inevitable future comes as a surprise, shakes up your perception of reality, and knocks you on your ass for a couple days. Maybe a week. ((Maybe you get back up an indeterminate amount of time later but you could never be the same)). In short, falling in love. No, this post won't be various ruminations on love and it's meaning.

View of the Vltava River

Not to say that I was at risk with falling in love with Prague, but the option (option? Is he saying that falling in love is an active action and not just something that falls into place sheerly off of the belief in it's presence? Scandalous) was always there given the factors: It's a romantic city with a lot of centuries old architecture and a certain level of European charm; I'm young and constantly searching for momentary direction [[long-term is it's own bag of worms]], I'm not involved in or committed to anyone or anything really, and I'm studying art. This sounds like some cheesy ass movie that I would cry at the end of. But, it didn't happen.

I did not want this to be a momentous, potentially defining, experience for me. I did not want to spend the rest of my life clamoring to get back here. I did not want to find myself here only to lose it when I had to return home. It is all relative. Loving my abroad experience was not what I wanted or needed at this part of my life. I don't know what I need, but referring to my last paragraph, there are a plethora of directions I go towards, and this was just me exercising one of my options. I do not believe I want to pursue film long term. 

Neon sign sculpture atop of the Jazz Dock jazz club

Hmm, when I was planning this all out a month and a half ago I was expecting a much larger blog post, hmm... maybe this will be a (partial) rumination on love. Just a little bit.

Parental love has always been a point of thorough interest (not quite fixation but definite preoccupation) for me. I like to turn to the poem "Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden when I think about this love. The line

What did I know, what did I know

of love’s austere and lonely offices?

reverberates with me at a greater frequency and is applicable to so much of what is out there with love (Hayden 13-14).

Park (Portheimka?) that I pass daily on my commute

We all learn how love ought to be from somewhere, and through experiences and trial and error we evolve into our own definitions, but no two of us are operating with exactly the same dictionary (I am a firm believer in the attributive meaning of our personal vocabularies), so we clash and conflict. Sometimes we adjust given circumstance, other times compromise isn't even a conceivable option.

I think the latter was where I found myself with Prague. I was/am not entirely willing to fall in love with it, especially knowing how soon I would be/am leaving. And it's usually best not to get involved when you can already foresee the probable outcome.

Don't go around breaking your own heart. Love is compromise. Love is attention. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is a whole lot of other things. I'm tired.

Haven't linked you all a new playlist in while, so here:

roast vegetables

no, I didn't name it, I probably would have named it "Because Right Now I Choose Sadness".

yes, it's a break-up playlist.

Recall to: concept of oversharing. This is easy from a place of vulnerability.

Y'all be good.