Love

           “So no love in your life?”

            That’s not what she meant, actually. She didn’t mean to imply that I lived a loveless existence. She wasn’t trying to say that I was lonely or disconnected. It wasn’t, I think, what she was trying to communicate.

            In this age bracket, solidly mid-twenties, there is a question that is as ubiquitous as the red wine. “So, what’s going in your love life?” It’s a friendly inquiry into the other person’s life, an opportunity to hear about the escapades, joys, and sorrows.

Ordinarily I, a happily single woman, just brush off the question. “Nah,” I laugh. “I’m too buried in work! What about you?” and we’re off and running, bantering or deeply discussing my compatriot’s relationship status.

The other day, though, the script wasn’t followed. I gave my standard response to the question, and the other person lightly responded, “Ah, so no love in your life?”

I was a bit taken aback, and somewhat affronted. “No,” I responded a bit stiffly, “My life is full of love. Just not romantic love.”

            What is this world that we are living in, where the ability to tie yourself to another person is the pinnacle of your worth? Why was this person’s conclusion that there was no love in my life? I’m sure she would never have suggested that if she had stopped and thought about it; I’m positive that she knows that there is more than one kind of love, and that happiness can come down many avenues.

            But that was her knee-jerk reaction. “There’s no love in your life.”

            I don’t have to defend my life, and I’m not going to. It is full, and it is good, and I am happy. That’s what things can be like, you know, when your life is as full of love as mine is.