I’ve heard it said that you are supposed to love people, not things.
While I can agree with the sentiment in terms of prioritizing one’s life — i.e., the well-being of people should come before the acquisition of things; the cherishing of loved ones should outweigh the lusting-after of stuff — I also don’t agree.
Because if there were not *things* I loved, I don’t think I’d get much pleasure out of life.
And there are definitely things I love.
I love sensory pleasures: the scent of freshly baked bread, the softness of well-worn flannel, the sound of birds singing. The bustle of kitchenwork clatter kisses my ears and the smooth wear of worn hardwood embraces my feet. Everyday cacophony and susurrations of quietude are equally comfortable, warm-hug embrasures of sound. I love the ozone heaviness of atmosphere before a storm and the fragrance of newly-washed warm air after rain. The freshness of petrachor and loam.
I love creations: the artistic endeavors of crayon-and-paper pictures made by small hands, the fabric-weave designs of independent clothiers, the cut-shine of diamonds in the unique settings of antique jewelry. I take pleasure in words read, in missives written, in the poetic sensibilities of bygone authors. Paintings and books adorn my shelves and walls, teakwood casings and midcentury lighting highlight the simple joys they inspire. Cookie jars and bookends, uncracked spines and much-loved volumes, soft-glow bulbs and wood-polished furniture — I love things made of ceramic and wood and canvas and pulp.
I love un-duplicate-able things: the exact fit of sleepily entwined limbs under warm blankets on a lie-in chilly-air morning, the purr of a velvet-soft cat’s pleasure against a stroking hand, the exuberance of an unexpected hug given joyfully as a result of a child’s delight. The culmination-anticipation of a long-awaited event finally taking place, the I-guessed-it-correctly! pleasure of having unraveled a mystery correctly before the solution is revealed, the tiny joys that infuse spent-together moments; these are all things. Things that I love.
I love the comfort of my reading chair, the quiet-flare sound of the gas fire, the mixture of daylight and bulbs that illuminate my space while I hold a book open in my lap. The scent of freshly-laundered sheets, the cushion of pillows behind my head, the light-heavy weight of layered blankets over me as I drift to sleep. The fragrance of fresh coffee drifting through the morning, the taste of maple syrup over gridiron waffles. Things that speak of home.
I love the sight of my Petty pin-ups lining the wall above my desk, the feel of the keyboard under my fingertips, the furnace-hum white noise of the room around me while I sit here and write.
Love is something often dissected. It is argued and proven (and sometimes inarguably unproven) every day. It is not necessarily agreed upon in terms of definitive meaning; neither is it necessarily earned or deserved, any more than it is free or unencumbered. Love between people is something we spend a lot of time considering in this month of Valentine’s, and maybe not enough time doing during the remainder of the year.
I have spent a lifetime being frustrated with the disenchantments of people-love.
But never have I experienced disillusionment with the things I love.
And there are so many things I love.
I so get what you’re saying, very well put. Sometimes I’m almost overwhelmed by the beauty of particular things that I’m stunned – maybe a Bach harpsichord piece, or a perfect blues, or a breathtaking colored sunrise – and I think : I’m happy I’m here in this moment to experience this.
Yes! 🙂
The same goes for appreciation of the physical things – my grandparents’ antique furniture,
now mine, a handmade vintage quilt, my grandmother’s ruby brooch, etc.
Heirlooms carry emotions somehow, don’t they? Which is why they are so easy to love. I have some handkerchiefs that belonged to my great-grandmother that I am pretty sentimental about.
So true!
That was as well thought-out as it was elegantly written.
I won’t go all Golem-like and list ‘my precious’ things, because there are a lot, and many are strange. He only obsessed over one ring. LOL Yet I wonder if these things of mine are “loved” in the same driven way Golem cherished his ring despite the misfortune it brought him? I am a sensualist and enjoying the physical world becomes more of a philosophy than a passion, so are these things truly loved or just enjoyed? For example, while many things of mine might well survive a fire or flood, my plants would not, and yet, even as certain ones give me great joy to just look at, I don’t see myself darting into a conflagration to save them……though I would miss them.
“Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens………………….”
I’m not sure any of my “loves” would survive the running-into-a-fire-for-them test. I have done water rescues though, which makes me think of something else I might need to write about…
Oh yes I complete agree. I love many things too, like you fresh clean sheet and petrachor feature on that list but the sound of the waves on the shore, hearing one of my kids laugh in the other room, my record player, my books, the daffodils poking their heads up in my garden at the moment. The sunset over the fields when I walk my dog in the evening. So many things to find love and joy in.
Thank you for writing this post and making me think about all these things and more
Molly
i don’t know if LOVE is the right word, but i seriously enjoy things and events and occasions a whole lot. And i think loving people is over-rated LOL. I am more attached to some of my STUFF than I am to the people one might *assume* I’d love.
I agree on the over-rated bit!