The Meaning Of Life and Love
The Secret of Romantic Success
I have playfully dabbled somewhat over the years with various definitions of the meaning of life and love, and virtually all left me feeling wanting.The closest I ever got to a definition of life and love I was attracted to was "It is to aimlessly drift" I kind of like that, it certainly fits with my path through my own life and my skirmishes with love en route.
I remember the first time I fell in love with my first ex wife and told her I loved her. She merely placed a handwritten note under my pillow saying she thought she loved me. A total lack of commitment which lasted twenty years and eventually was, among many other things, the undoing of our marriage.
My second ex wife told me she that loved me "All the way to the moon." What she failed to say was that she was referring to The Moon Chinese restaurant at the end of the street. Not very far at all really, no more than a few hundred yards.
Many years ago a Spanish acquaintance of mine told me the secret of peace and harmony in his relationship with his wife. Just two little words was all it took; "Yes darling." Mind you, he was more than a little drunk at the time. What was more, it seems like every time I saw them together they were at war with each other bitterly bickering over the most trivial matters.
Then today, for whatever spurious reason, I finally arrived at what I think is a realistic, pragmatic even, expectation with my lovely present wife. I have previously told her that I will love her forever. She always said that that was not really acceptable as I may only have a year left to live, not long at all really. It was futile trying to explain to her that I have a better life expectation than that.
A few years ago I remember seeing a sign at a bar I used to go to for breakfast once or twice a week. During the week of the annual horse fair the bar was closed and a hand written note was posted on the opening hours sign on the glass door front. It simply stated "We are closed until we are open." Another time a similar note had been posted by the owners which said "We are open until we are not."
Today for whatever reason I was chatting with my wife about how much I loved her and I heard myself say "I love you until I don't" And she totally accepted that. Result. Who would have thought it could be that easy?
And then I got to thinking that in fact this was not a bad philosophy not only of love but also of life. The French philosopher Rene Descartes said, in French, "Je sense, don je suit." In latin "Cogito ergo sum." In plain English it is "I think therefore I am." So with nothing like a quantum leap in philisophical thinking I arrived at….
"I am until I am not." This is as good a definition of the the 'it-ness' of life as any. And "I love you until I don't." is the icing on the cake.
Somebody once said that "If moma aint happy aint nobody happy." Well today mama was happy, and that's all a man can ask, cause when moma is happy, hell yeah, everybody is happy, including me. Of course, as every married man knows, if papa ain't happy, ain't nobody a cares a damn. That's life as they say.
About the Creator
Liam Ireland
I Am...whatever you make of me.
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By Jay Kantor17 days ago in Families
Home Through the Winter Rain
Winter arrived gently that year, not with snowstorms or icy winds, but with steady rain that seemed to fall without end. The sky was a soft gray, heavy and calm, and the air smelled of wet roads and cold earth. On one such evening, a small family climbed into their own car, ready to begin the familiar drive home. The engine started with a low, comforting sound. The headlights cut through the mist, glowing warmly against the rain. The parents sat in the front seats, wrapped in thick coats, their breaths forming faint clouds before the heater slowly warmed the air. The mother adjusted the mirror, smiling softly as she glanced back at the children. The father rested his hands on the steering wheel, careful and steady, already focused on the road ahead. In the back seat, the children were bundled together like little birds hiding from the cold. Their jackets were bright against the dark interior of the car, and their shoes were still damp from puddles they had jumped in earlier that day. One child hugged a stuffed bear tightly, its fur worn soft from years of love. Another leaned close to the window, watching the raindrops slide down the glass in twisting paths. “Look,” one of them whispered, tracing a finger along the foggy window. “That one is winning.” The rain seemed alive outside, each drop racing the others, merging and separating, disappearing at the bottom of the glass. Streetlights reflected in the wet road, stretching into long golden lines that shimmered and broke apart as the car moved forward. The heater clicked louder now, filling the car with warmth. Slowly, gloves were pulled off, scarves loosened. The tight cold of winter faded into something soft and safe. The radio played quietly in the background—an old song the parents knew by heart. They didn’t sing out loud, but their heads moved gently to the rhythm. As the car traveled through the rain, the father slowed at each turn, careful not to rush. Tires whispered against the wet road. The mother pointed out familiar places as they passed—a closed bakery, a dark park, a row of houses glowing faintly from inside. Everything looked different in the rain, quieter, calmer, as if the world itself was resting. The children grew sleepy, their earlier excitement fading into peaceful silence. One rested their head against the other’s shoulder. The stuffed bear slipped onto the seat between them. Outside, the rain tapped steadily on the roof, a soft rhythm like a lullaby. “Do you remember,” the mother said gently, “when we used to drive like this before you were born?” The father smiled. “Long drives. Late nights. Just us and the road.” “And now,” she said, glancing back again, “we’re all here.” The children didn’t fully hear the words, but they felt their meaning. They felt it in the warmth of the car, in the way the parents’ voices sounded calm and close, in the steady movement carrying them safely forward. The road curved toward the edge of town. Trees stood bare, their branches dark and shining with rain. Water pooled along the sides of the street, reflecting the passing lights like tiny mirrors. Somewhere far away, a dog barked once, then fell silent again. One child stirred and yawned. “Are we almost home?” “Soon,” the father answered softly. That word—home—settled into the car like another blanket. Home meant dry clothes and warm soup. It meant lights in the windows and shoes left by the door. It meant safety from the cold rain and the long gray sky. As they drove, the rain began to slow. The drops grew smaller, lighter, until they were more like a mist. The clouds above thinned just enough to let a pale glow through, not quite moonlight, but something close. The world felt gentler somehow, as if winter itself had decided to be kind. The car turned onto a quiet street. Houses lined the road, each one familiar, each one holding its own small stories. The father parked slowly, switching off the engine. Suddenly, the world felt very still. The rain whispered one last time, then faded into silence. The children woke fully now, blinking and stretching. Coats were zipped, hats pulled on. The mother gathered the stuffed bear and handed it back with a smile. The father stepped out first, opening the door and letting in a breath of cool winter air. They walked together toward their house, shoes splashing softly in shallow puddles. The porch light glowed warmly, welcoming them home. Inside, the house smelled faintly of dinner and clean air. The door closed behind them, shutting out the cold and the rain. Jackets were hung up. Shoes were lined neatly by the door. The children laughed quietly, already talking about tomorrow. The parents watched them for a moment, tired but content. Outside, winter continued its slow rain. Inside, the family moved easily through their evening, wrapped in comfort and love. And though the night was cold, and the roads were wet, the journey had been enough—because they had made it home together.
By Sahir E Shafqat7 days ago in Families
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