“Love is the art of translation”

I read this today and yes, it’s a beautiful line… but… there is a serious but for me here.

I am not sure if lately I am becoming a little cynical… but am I?

I flip through post after post, often saying the same thing.
Have I outgrown it all?
They do say you should always outgrow your teacher… is that where I am?

But if I really sit with it, I am not cynical, I’ve become precise.
I think there is a vast difference, and I often wonder if people confuse the two.

Cynicism says, “None of this is real.”
What I say is, “This used to be enough… now it isn’t.”

But how do you even put that into words?

When scrolling through quotes and phrases, they start to seem like bullshit.
When did things really stop being honest for us to get to this point?
Or have we always been here?

Love isn’t just a translation. It can be… but if we’re honest, most people are terrible at it.

Whether that’s because of codependency, selfishness, ego, insecurities, overconfidence, fear, regret, addictions… I mean shit, the list goes on and on.

We are flawed. There is no way around that.
I don’t care how “perfect” you think you are for someone, even yourself, rest assured… there is always something we can be working on or toward.

Yet here we are…

Everyone speaking a different emotional language in a fucked up world that tests our limits daily, and our emotional landscapes change and evolve sometimes by the minute, the hour, the day… but they change.

So have we really cracked the code?

One person says love through consistency, another through touch, another through silence, another through words they don’t even know how to form yet.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, two people are trying to understand each other without a shared dictionary… and the definition is always changing.

That’s where it breaks.

I don’t believe love is proven by what you feel.
I don’t believe it is proven by how you show up.
I don’t believe it is in how you translate it.
I don’t believe it is in how you say it.
I don’t believe it’s what so many of us think it should be when it is received.

For me…

it is proven by how well you can interpret what the other person is trying to give.

But even as I say that… I question it.

Because how much of that is truth… and how much of that is me trying to make something make sense that maybe doesn’t?

How much is understanding…
and how much is me filling in the blanks?

Because there is a difference.
There has to be.

Or does there?

Is it all bullshit anyway?

Between recognizing effort that doesn’t come naturally to someone…
and creating effort that isn’t actually there.

Between seeing someone clearly…
and softening the edges so it feels better to stay.

And I think that’s the part no one really talks about.

Because interpreting someone well takes emotional intelligence…
but over-interpreting them?

That takes you straight out of reality.

And I’ve been there.

Where you start telling yourself,
“They just show it differently.”
“They don’t know how.”
“It’s there, it just looks like this.”

And maybe sometimes that’s true.

But sometimes… it’s not.

Sometimes what’s being given… is exactly what it is.
No deeper meaning.
No hidden layer.
No translation required.

They are just an asshat, plain and simple. 

And other times, they really are showing up, imperfect, maybe clumsy, but real.

Sure, for some, it might feel like walking a fine line. A sort of danger in it. But at its best, this is a mature way of loving someone.

It’s not rigid. I am not sitting here saying, “If they don’t love me exactly how I prefer, it doesn’t count,” but trust me… I am still paying very close attention.

I read between the lines.
I notice effort.
I notice intention.
I notice consistency… even when it doesn’t show up wrapped the way I would have chosen.

Everyone is their own person. All of us, fucked up in our own way, in various degrees.

This is where I will allow my intellectual, logical side to have a real conversation with my heart.

This, however… is where I can get stupid if I am not careful.

This is where the shift begins.

I can end up way overthinking it and go down the rabbit hole from hell of,
“I see what you’re trying to give, even if it isn’t perfect,”
and
“I will translate your lack of effort into love so I don’t have to face the truth.”

Those are not the same thing.
They will never be the same thing.

One is grounded in reality.
The other is built on hope.

And while hope isn’t a bad thing… it can be blinding when it isn’t anchored to behavior.

And maybe the real question isn’t
“How well can I interpret what they’re trying to give?”

Maybe it’s… Why do I feel the need to translate it at all?

Maybe today,  I just say to you, I’ll be over here, dancing in my living room, doing me. 

I will see you all on the other side of tomorrow.

 Because today, love, is just noun or a verb in sentence. 

Maybe, just maybe…. not everything, not everyone is meant to be understood. They just need to be allowed to just be.