By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

There’s not much one can count on these days but February is still loyal, and comes around every year touting “love” — whatever that is or is about to be. I have this very scary cartoon patched to my kitchen wall. It pictures a human woman with her arms around a shrimp about her size. The caption reads, “The other day I told my A.I. (Artificial Intelligence, in case you’ve been hiding under a rock) that I love shrimp tempura and it said, ‘What’s that?’ And I repeated in a surprised voice, ‘What’s shrimp tempura?’ and it said, ‘No. What is love?’” Do you have an answer?

When I wrote my first February column those many years ago, I interviewed a bunch of people and received a variety of responses none of which had any connection with the others.

Of course, there are all kinds of love: for children, relatives, pets, friends, country, eggplant, sports cars, football teams, Paris, a new kitchen, Bradley Cooper or the beach. (I know, left out a few things). But I am talking about what is referred to as “romantic” love — the kind that is supposed to last forever but half the time doesn’t. One of the tidbits I recently read in an academic psychology magazine suggested that research showed that “romantic love” (undefined) lasts an average of 18 months. Perhaps, it was referring to lust. I never actually followed up on that because it rang very possible to me.

On another angle, I recently received the following answer, in all seriousness, to ‘What is love?’ from the male half of a 60 year plus marital union: “Love is always giving in to your partner.” Try passing that around at your next dinner party and let me know who starts the fireworks and how it turned out.

In a recent Sunday New York Times “VOWS” section, an inspirational love story about a couple who met through an Internet dating site, proceeded to find out “everything” about each other through e-mails because they were geographically distant and, after two years, finally met and — yay! — married!

Both had been widowed, she 85; he, 87. Cynic that I am, when I hear a story of such compatibility, I generally ask for a report on the relationship after about 20 years. Check mate!

I will not seriously address a recent New York Times article about people falling in love with their robots – presumably “programmed” to be the perfect mate — and the subsequent fallout of massive changes in sexual identity, suggesting the label “digisexual” — a discussion for another time.

But what I do know on a very visceral level is that between social media and the unstoppable coming of a profusion of A.I. gimmicks presumably on the market to enhance our lifestyle, human “touch” is on the wane and that is so very sad. A simple touch as an expression of love is losing its relevancy and, along with that, the intimacy of human contact.

Perhaps, Skype can fill that void for some people; but, for me, there is nothing like just plain holding hands and piercing the eyes – the tunnel into another soul. Love is so many things and its’ essence so differently defined and accepted by each of us.

I wish you bundles of whatever love is to you. Happy Valentine’s Day!

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

How many ways are there to talk about love without being repetitious? That has been my annual challenge for over a decade. So my angle this year is condemnation of the very loving intent of the sacred Golden Rule — “Treat people the way you’d like them to treat you,” which is the modern interpretation as posed by GRO (www.thegoldenrule.net). Actually, if we follow that directive blindly, we are committing an act, in some instances, of extreme selfishness.

Wait wait wait! Before you throw me into the pyre, hear me out.

Certainly, there is the desire to be treated with respect, but the word treat in this context covers a plethora of peopled interactions, some of which are multi-layered. Example: A boyfriend presents his long-time “main squeeze” with a huge bunch of flowers for a romantic occasion. She had spoken to him of her allergies to flowers, but he wasn’t exactly into listening. In this instance, he was treating her with the love and kindness he would have wanted reciprocally, perhaps in a more gender-appropriate offering. It was received with feigned appreciation and the recognition that he hadn’t heard her.

What she had really wanted from him was to have been heard. Sure, she could then have told him the truth and, this time, be heard; and she may well have done so, but there’s that little nuance of wanting to be treated (listened to) the first time around.

Being heard is really a metaphor for being known. People in close relationships want to be known by the important people in their lives, as in, “Hey! This is the real me – the me I want to be loved for – not the me you love because you have fantasized some combined ideal of me and who you want me to be.” This, of course, is taking the flower tale to an extreme, but there are so many similar situations where people with good intentions treat others without any emotional input into how that other person really wants to be treated.

Quick story: My sister and I had a bachelorette apartment in Manhattan eons ago. We shared laundry chores. I’d fold hers and place the items neatly in her drawer. She’d flatten mine on top of the dresser. I fumed every time I had to fold and place my items in my drawer. One day, I found her taking her items out of her drawer, and she turned to me, saying, “I hate the way you fold my stuff, and I hate how you put them away for me.”

We laughed. We straightened it out. Neither of us had “done unto” the other the way each of us wanted to be “done unto.” We loved each other, but we had gone our own separate ways for so many years that it took time for us to really get to know each other again.

The word love is bandied about carelessly and sometimes meaninglessly. To really love someone is to know the essence, the soul, the inner workings of that person; to know and to accept all that, and to make it a part of who you are.

Happy Valentine’s Day!