on a recent flight to germany i was seated next to someone whom i overheard saying, into a cell phone as we were waiting to take off, that no, cocktails had not yet been proffered, followed by a sigh of disgust. i knew at that moment we would be friends.
we wound up partaking of many cocktails, and staying up all night talking. finally the flight attendants were just handing the drinks to us as we approached the galley, so they could sleep on and not have to deal with the credit card machine. which was handy, because these teeny tiny little drinks ran 7 bucks each. anyway, often laughing hysterically, and between repeated tipsy attempts to name all seven dwarfs ("lumpy?") we hit upon many subjects of great import, including defining "the great love" of a lifetime. naturally, in discussing this paramount topic deeply and profoundly, if not wetly, we elaborated with our personal histories, from our thoughts on our tender or disastrous first loves, to our older, wiser understanding of love today: and of what constitutes the love of one's life. (naming the kids as the great love didn't count--that's a cheater's way out.)
wonderful they are, confessions. it was like being in the 5th grade again, lying in a circle in leah carter's back yard, playing truth and dare in our sleeping bags under the stars. i have always loved the thrilling charm of that, but this time it was dare-to-tell-the-truth-every-time, which is probably the adult version of the game. not a lot of room to dance like a chicken in a plane, and everyone flying had probably already seen a naked body dashing about; bolder it is to truly reveal innermost selves. sometimes revealing the truth is the riskiest tact. (of course: not so much when the witness is also fairly anonymous and is someone one will most likely--if one does not correspond and eventually go together to that jazz club downtown--never see or hear from again.) so now, weeks later, i have not written to continue the conversation, but have been relaughing the night, and rethinking the subject.
should the love of our lives be our first love? the person with whom we experienced our first kiss? (no way on the kiss thing). the first person with whom we felt that the "we" could last forever, except it didn't? the person one marries? first marries? marries last? the person who sets one free?
i have my ideas on this but since i am not sitting in a darkened plane next to a heretofore complete stranger, confessing, i hesitate to elaborate. ply me with gin and tonics and call me the queen of arlington, in the realm of virginia, and i may change my mind, of course. (it's been done before.) but, the question remains, and is a pretty one, for me. if you have some insight as to the nature of what constitutes the greatest love of a lifetime, you can help inform the ruminations by sharing, completely anonymously, right here. i like the memories that come to mind as i consider past/present lovers, and the ways they have influenced my life for the better. or not (which person/people would not be in the running for greatest love of life or whatever we will call it--though, even if bitterer, there is value to be had from those cads, too.)
just that thought. for now.
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