Love: A Dissonant Definition
Trillions of interactions, billions of experiences, millions of scripts, all left wanting.
The image above, that pair of broken parentheses without any space between them, has been a symbol of love for hundreds of years. Its visibility increased exponentially since the dawning of Social Media.
But does any modern person splashing a variation of that universal icon upon any medium possible know what love is?
How do you define something so ethereal, yet immensely powerful and encompassing? Mostly by using metaphor and analogy.
“Music is the evocation of emotion through composed sound.” — Me, because I am a genius
I love music. So much so that I’ve barely played it for about 3 years. After the dominoes fell, so did my fear of experiencing that elation again: for it to remind me of, simply put, the few truly good events that’ve occurred.
Instead of defining love between one being and another, I am going to use my love for music — which is admittedly bizarre. Music is abstract, a person is not: they exist physically, they have a mind and independent thought, they act, they have physical & mental presence, a level of self-awareness and self-realization; sentience.
Music is a concept.
I’ve never felt like I ‘made’ a good song or ‘composed’ one in any way. I feel like I discover them:
“This riff going into the next one here with just the right timing makes me feel apprehensive & tense, before suddenly being relieved. It’s like the few milliseconds after a nightmare in the middle of the night: it’s dark, images are swirling in your brain, while your pupils dilate as they too are trying to reconcile the unbelievable horrors of the unreal to the believable real.”
That’s anywhere from 10 to 45 seconds in a single song. That short amount of time evokes the above quote, somewhat like the time observed while dreaming relative to the world’s actual time — a dream can seemingly last for hours within, while outside, only minutes have passed.
Everything I hear or ‘create’ — from the intervals between two notes to the verse-chorus-verse to the progressive and mind-bending uncommon timings and speeds of some artists — cause me to feel something, and that feeling is associated with an event/person/idea/etc, either imagined or real.
Landscapes form in my mind, an innocuous flash of someone smiling at me years ago whips my heart to speeds amphetamines can’t touch, or one of many ideal outcomes exist for that moment in brevity.
And the person I love intertwines with sections, bits-and-pieces, of music.
One sound reminds me of her as a whole. A book could be written about that alone, from the first instant those reflected photons, half-dulled by clouds, hit my pupils.
A riff reminds me of the way her eyes followed her cheeks in movement, corresponding between internal thought and outward expression.
The interval between these two notes followed by this third one a step later speaks her character as I perceive it. As I’ve always perceived it.
Unlike others, and many writings on the subject, I do not believe love is a choice. It’s a reactionary sense, like hunger. If there were a choice, what would give anyone cause to pursue someone they had no chance with? Why would your heart rate increase at a mere thought, and threaten ribs with a mere touch? Why would I own 13 different, unique guitars that I use?
For my part, all of my guitars sound different. Absolutely different. From the woods & finishings used, to the electronics that pick up, modulate & send the coiled signal into the amplifier — all of them have more than one unique property, each making a sound I cherish, and hold memories & emotions that I haven’t felt nor dreamt for years.
I remember hearing Crazy Train’s intro being played to death while jockeying around with guitars I had no chance of affording at the time, always wondering why no one ever played the rest of the song. Listening to it after getting my first guitar and believing there was no way I’d ever be able to play it, I was going to try because I felt compelled to.
Before I was aware of it — while practicing, I’d work on a part that was related to the exercise I’d done prior; while jamming out & searching for riffs, I’d start the beginning of the solo; while focused entirely on scales and their patterns, I’d hear something similar and fork around with the legato (tapping) sections — I’d learnt the song.
It was intrinsic; I didn’t know I was doing any of it at the time. One day when I was bored, I decided to ‘mock’-play the intro. My mind being absent during, I’d snapped back to reality when I realized I’d played the whole song — it was a whole different world. I realized I’d just done what I’d been convinced impossible.
It became possible, it always was possible, because I loved what I was doing the entire time: practicing or playing. Barely feeling the strings under my calloused finger tips, the vibrations through tissue and bone were distinct. It was as if speaking a foreign language with all of the grammar and pronunciation in place; a natural flow between arms & hands dispersed by the brain & heart. It felt right.
Love is serene, yet it launches all kinds of neurotransmitters and fires up brain activity like you wouldn’t believe, unless you’ve had an MRI done while in or near that state…
Love is a deep sense of comfort, excitement, peace, contentment, and, this will sound odd, satiation. Like hunger diminishing after a meal: love is satisfying.
Life feels whole. Complete. Or, to put it better: a step in life feels completed, and love compels us to progress. It gives us hope, drive, motivation; endless wonder.
This is not a long read, and there’s far more that I could say or describe. It is by far more complicated than a few minute’s read (let alone some random meme), but at its core, it’s blunt. It’s very apparent when you love someone. At least, it has been for me.
So much so that I haven’t been able to pluck a few strings for more than 10 minutes on any given day of the week. Open mics have been driven purely by adhering to the words written on a planner, with maybe a sprinkle of heart. Before, only work really stood in the way of practicing and recording and practicing and learning and practicing…
Music has that concrete an impact. I feel everything. It’s good and it’s bad, but it’s always beautiful and marvelous, regardless.
Love is the same damn thing.
Benjamin Parker Kris Gage Kelsey L.O. Tom Chanter Rose Ernst Thought Catalog P.S. I Love You Jennifer Rosater
