Selfless, selfish love

I didn't grow up in a family that said 'I love you' often. It may have been said to me on the odd occasion, but I have no memory of it. The first time I heard someone say 'I love you' was my first serious boyfriend when I was 19, and what a debacle that was!

We may have looked deep into each other's eyes, cocooned in the warm glow of togetherness, and mumbled those three teeny words at times, but the love didn't extend much further than that. It was three years of jealous tantrums (yes, me!), hysteria (yes, me!), infidelity (yes, me!) and pot addiction (we both indulged there). Nor was the sex great.

The relationship was clearly doomed, yet I clung on like a cat stuck on the highest, most flimsy branch of a tree, paralysed. 

After a particularly nasty fight while holidaying in Byron Bay, I looked up to the heavens, desperate perhaps for a sign, guidance, something to save me from the hell I'd created for myself in the guise of 'love'. 

What greeted me was a blanket of stars so thick, so vast, so exquisite, I let myself fall into its immensity and wrap me up, like the warm embrace of a new lover. It was time to turn my back on the old. 

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My first relationship didn't teach me much about what love is, but it did teach me a lot about what love isn't.  

Love isn't jealous outbursts. 

Love isn't deceitful. 

Love isn't violent.

And love never attacks, demeans or abuses.

Fifteen years have passed since then, and I feel I have learned something of love in that time. Well, one thing, and that's a start.

I've learned that love is selfless. Always.

But don't misinterpret me: I do not advocate the doormat principle. Unless you're Jesus, the Buddha or some other great spiritual master who can truly take no offence to someone else's bad behaviour, it's not something I would counsel.

Life is too short to let anyone treat you poorly, unlovingly. 

For me, love is something I have to practise every moment of every day, and it's much easier to practise in some moments than others. 

It's easy for me to love when I feel uplifted by life's joys, happy and peaceful; much more difficult when I feel weighed down by life's perceived pressures, stressed and depressed. 

Also, it's clearly much easier – and seemingly more natural – to love some people more than others. The most profound and easy love I have ever felt is for my children. It's hardly an effort to show my love for them in every moment, even when they've drawn on the walls in a permanent black marker, discovered my jewellery box and destroyed every piece in it, or totally disregarded the time and effort I've put in to ensure they've been fed healthy, good food every day (mostly); have a clean and comfortable home to live in; and have a balanced entertainment schedule.

Yes, the cup runneth over with love for my children... can I extend such love to every other person who touches my life? I attempt to.

Which brings me to another insight. 

Love is selfish.

My desire (and attempt) to share and experience love every day in every moment doesn't extend from some wishy washy ideal of world peace and harmony (as if!). Rather, it extends from a selfish wish to keep my heart light, open and at peace.

I don't know of any better drug.