“I like the way that the French describe being in love as a form of ‘folie’. The kind of passionate, powerful love we experience in an intense relationship often feels nothing like the kind of gentle, warm love we feel for family, children, friends or pets.” Judi James says that “being in love” is the strongest form of love we ever feel. “It can feel exquisitely painful and involve all sorts of anxieties, paranoia and irrational jealousies that defy any form of logical thought.”
Love has always been my end goal. You’ll probably understand by now that I have over-indulged in the odd romantic comedy.
Or twenty.
I’ve got caught up in love stories, celebrities who seem to have it all and books that depict the kind of love that I’m looking for. If there’s romance to be had in something, I’ll find it. Love was on a pedestal. A holy grail to reach and a bloody mountain for me to climb. But it was up there, sitting pretty, looking perfect.
Coincidentally, I had fallen in love with writing because of a review I had read in the Guardian of Love Actually in 2004. A romantic comedy. I’d stumbled across it after always reading reviews ahead of watching a movie. I hated (there’s that easy word again) nothing more than picking a bad movie. Having to sit through it. Annoyed. I was all about saving wasted time. I had no time to waste. Wasting time was ageing without getting anywhere. I did not need more ageing.
Peter Bradshaw, a journalist, had beautifully captured (and torn apart) the movie, and his words touched me in a place that I didn’t know existed. His words became power. In the review he quipped, was love actually enough?
The question ignited two things inside of me. First, I wanted to be a journalist. I wanted to touch people’s own deep dark places inside with my words. Cause people to question, ask questions
and demand answers. So, I went to uni, got a degree and became a journalist. Second, it, along with my parents’ divorce, made me constantly recite that question.
Was love actually enough?
Would it ever be enough? Could it ever be enough? I’ve never stopped thinking about that question. Without knowing entirely what love was, what I did know was that there were a lot of other things in life going on. More important things. More substantial things. Things that I could define and explain a lot more easily. Other areas of life that required our focus. A concentration on our growth, who we were and what we did. Our careers, our character, our path. There were other things to prioritise than being in love. And let’s be honest, easier points to tackle. Love could wait, right?
Despite civil partnerships being recognised in 2005, love before that and for a long time after felt like a different journey for us. We couldn’t love the same. Campaigning for our rights to marriage licences and applications was happening as early as 1992 in England – perhaps even earlier. After marriage licence applications by same-sex couples were refused, it ignited a very long battle for equal marriage. A fight. We literally had to fight for the right to recognise our love. Despite the obvious homophobia, not being able to display love in public without getting insults or worse, that fight was felt throughout our community. Whether you bravely campaigned on streets, in protests or in debates, or if you read the news behind closed doors, suffering in silence. Everyone felt it. And it affected everyone differently.
But could love wait?
Because in reality, for our community and for a lot of people, it had to wait. So, it did. Of course, after coming out, I’d dabbled in relationships. But I wasn’t sure where that love would go, would be able to go. After a failed relationship at twenty-one and it still not being legal to “love” for our community, I had dreams outside of love. Other focuses. Career aspirations. I started scoring small goals, putting ambition ahead of anything else. I’d over-work, spread myself thin and burn out on a daily basis. Of course, I’d dabble with “love” on the side, but that is where it remained. A side hustle. A bit part. The supporting act. Never the main attraction.
The concentration on anything but love was like the blinkers a horse would wear when focusing on the road ahead. My peripheral vision was cut off so that I could only look forward. Keep concentration. But, despite the legalities and question mark over how far love could go, love, outside of family, friends or pets, couldn’t be controlled. Couldn’t be ignored. Despite all my efforts, unapologetically, “love” crept in. Sometimes it was unexpected, sometimes sought out during moments of procrastination, and often unplanned. Always unplanned. Even with the relentless support of Taylor Swift, Beyoncé and Demi Lovato advising me that I was doing okay on my own, love would find me. It had its way. Regardless of laws, career goals or Tinder rejection. It comes.
And slowly I realised that if I continued to turn my back on it, kept running, kept my focus elsewhere, I might regret my choices. Make the wrong turn. Life has an expiry date, so why wouldn’t love? It was a relationship completely out of control. There, regardless. Waiting or available. Whenever we were ready for it. Whenever the world would acknowledge it.
Pure.
Honest.
Inconvenient.
Love.
© 2022 Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Reprinted with permission. This article may not be reproduced for any other use without permission.
Reprinted with permission from Gay Man Talking: All the Conversations We Never Had by Daniel Harding (Jessica Kingsley Publishers). Use code HARDING20 for 20% discount off a copy of Gay Man Talking when ordered through us.jkp.com or uk.jkp.com valid through December 31, 2022.
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Read Daniel Harding’s guest post on “Why Love Is Always the End Goal.”