Foreign Languages of Love

One thing this sort of life change has done is that it has made me think hard about what really matters (personally). This coincides nicely with my 40th birthday which happened last summer, right before we left Texas. I guess that, at 40, it's time to figure this stuff out.

There's this theory called "The 5 Love Languages" that many people have recommended.  It actually sounds sensible, and the idea that knowing your loved one's language will help make your interactions more meaningful is nice.  So I have pondered which of the five might be mine.

Presents are always a nice thing, but material goods aren't what speak to me deep down inside. Helpful acts are appreciated but I also have the tendency to either (1) feel like "just let me do it myself" or (2) feel guilty if I give the task to someone else. These are my own character flaws. I'm not a terribly physical person...occasionally, I love a great hug and I know that the well-timed pat on the back is nice, but I am in general jumpy about people touching me.

That leaves "quality time" (most important to John) and "words of affirmation." Those words of affirmation are important coming from a supervisor, but they can't come *too* often or I'll think it's all b.s. Quality time is important, but I am so introverted (not necessarily a good thing) that the timing has to be on my schedule...That makes none of the five a good (intuitive) fit. 

So I guess I speak a foreign love language.

Really, someone very near and dear to me sums it up best. What makes her happy? "When everybody is else is happy so they'll shut up and leave me alone."

I think that may be my love language, too...I want to feel real contentment in other people, for them to have peace so I can have peace. A smile, very brief thank you, or even just the rainbow-hued aurora glow of peacefulness emanating from a person's being are all that's required. Then we can sit and have quality peaceful time together. It's the realizing that the peace is achieved that makes me happy.

This is why I want to rip my hair out every night at dinner...because NO ONE IS EVER FREAKIN' AT PEACE AND THE MOMENT I PUT MY FOOD ON MY PLATE SOMEONE SPILLS SOMETHING, DROPS SOMETHING, HAS ALREADY EATEN AND THEN WANTS SOMETHING NEW, OR SNEEZES, BLOWING SNOT AND MILK ALL OVER HELL AND HALF OF GEORGIA, WHICH SCARES THE BIRD, WHO JUMPS OFF HIS CAGE AND RUNS UNDER THE COUNTER AND THEN I HAVE TO GET ON THE FLOOR AND CALM THE BIRD AND THEM GET HIM BACK ON HIS CAGE AND THEN ALL MY FOOD IS COLD ANYWAY.  AND THEN THE PHONE RINGS AND IT'S A RECORDED MESSAGE FROM A POLITICIAN.

Was I screaming? Sorry. I must have gotten off track.

So the love language thing is sort of figured out.  But we have also been talking about travel plans and priorities--what adventures would be most important and meaningful to me while I'm here?  John had India high up on his list.  We've agreed that Istanbul, Greece, and Nepal are our top shared three.  Some day, John must take me to China (he feels about India like I feel about China).  But that will likely be later.

That said, I've decided that even more than traveling my own self (which is important), I want to share this place with the people I love. I want to them to come here. When I am back in Texas and close my eyes and float off far away and then open my eyes and look at my loved one and say, "I was just back in Souq Waqif," I want that loved one to say, "Oh my lord! I can just smell the sheesha right now!  Remember the big carved dhow that sat across from the restaurants?  Remember the candy and nut stalls?" I want them to know--not from pictures or from videos or from goofy blog posts. I want them to really know. THAT is what's important to me. Then we can shut up and go back to being peaceful together.

Of course, Qatar is way way way far away, and the tickets are expensive, and hoping for visits is totally unrealistic, like asking for the moon or a new pair of diamond earrings.  All I'm saying is that I have indeed figured out what matters to me. When I dream, I dream big.

If you're still with me, well then thank you for wading patiently through all of this blateration. Maybe "sympathetic listening to my blateration" is another one of my love languages.  You can even roll your eyes as you listen.  Just pretent to listen.  You listen.  I blaterate.  I love you.

I close with this lovely potted poinsettia that a mystery person left on my porch.  Because, if you stuck with me through that whole blog post, then you most definitely deserve a flower.