Sari Krosinsky
Daily Lobo Columnist
I've been reading lately about Theodor Herzl - you know, the "father" of modern Zionism - and how, in his pre-Zionist days, he had a penchant for writing columns about love.
These days, it probably seems like a peculiar subject to appear in a newspaper, silly Valentine's Day articles aside. But lately I've been busy being preoccupied and melancholy over that very subject. I even failed to come up with a column last week on account of it.
So I figure if Herzl could get away with it, maybe I should quit not writing and instead write on the subject of my preoccupation.
I'm not much of a universalist, so don't expect any great sounding but meaningless platitudes out of this column. I can only record my own stumbling path and hope you'll find something in it worth thinking about.
I should start at the beginning. The first time I can remember thinking about romantic love was when I was five.
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After my mom died, aside from being upset on my own behalf, I was really worried about my dad. With him losing his wife at the age of 44, all those tales of true love and happily ever after suddenly seemed rather sinister. The thought of my dad having to go through the rest of his life without someone to love was terrible.
So I decided to change my ideas about love. I decided there couldn't really be only one true love in life. That would be too cruel. I was really happy when my dad did fall in love again and married my present mom a few years later.
All right, that isn't all that deep. I was five, OK? At any rate, it gives you an idea about where I'm starting from.
I think I learned more about love when I was five than I have in my adult life. I had my share of good role models for love - my parents included - but for myself, I just wasn't sure that's where my priorities laid. Or more accurately, I wasn't sure it could happen for me.
Then, I fell in love.
We were working on an education not incarceration campaign and organizing a conference together. One day, in my typical goofy way, I said, "I'm not sure if you noticed, but I've been trying to flirt with you," and he said, "It's OK."
It was pretty clear off the bat that our paths were headed in different directions. Particularly since he already had another girlfriend and a boyfriend at the time. Besides, he was probably a bit too smart and talented for the likes of me.
It ended quickly, but not badly. We make better friends than lovers.
And I did learn one thing from that relationship: I really like being in love. It's definitely something I could make a lifelong habit.
The trouble is finding someone to do it with.
As anyone who read my pre-Valentine's Day column may have guessed, I currently have a pretty good candidate.
Our coming to know each other was predestined by three common interests: a mutual friend, poetry and cigarettes. After we spent a night trading autobiographical poems, I blurted out, "I'm really drawn to you."
Man, I really have to come up with a good line one of these days. But it worked.
Once again, I've managed to find someone who's really smart and talented. Guess I'm into that sort of thing. And on top of that, he's sweet, sensitive, attentive and not dating anybody else.
But there are, er, certain matters that can make this relationship a little difficult at times. Thence the melancholy preoccupation.
They're not my matters, so you'll have to forgive me leaving out the gritty details. I'll just tell you that these matters, combined with my propensity for not being particularly secure about love in the first place, have challenged my patience and left me feeling, well, a bit vulnerable.
I could flee the scene before I go falling in love and taking more risks with my emotions. Then again, it seems pretty silly to quit now just because I might lose later. Perhaps it's better to wait and risk winning.
And this is someone worth waiting for.
Go ahead, tell me I'm a big sap. E-mail Sari Krosinsky at michal_kro@hotmail.com.
