Hello, My Name Is: Love.

A while ago, I read a book called Why We Love: The Nature and Chemistry of Romantic Love by Dr. Helen Fisher.   It looks at the existence of love from a completely biological, evolutionary standpoint.  We feel love to compel us to mate and stay physically together to raise and support the growth of the next generation, blah blah blah.  It's not the first and certainly not the last pseudo-scientific study to completely take the love out of love (see Time magazine article at right --->).

And, I suppose that's one way to deal with it.  But, in the context of relationships, a scientific explanation doesn't do much to alleviate our confusion over the inevitable (and sometimes plaguing) question:  What is love (and am I in it)?  Proclaiming love the key to survival of the species doesn't do much good if no one tells us what the stupid key looks like.

So, the answer to one question (Why do we love?) sent me in search of the answer to another (What is love?).  Through a very scientific poll of friends, song lyrics, and the internet I was able to amass a pretty substantial list of things that love is and isn't.  I figure if I add all of these together and take the average, I'll come pretty close to approximating a definition of love:

Love is an emotion of strong affection and personal attachment.  Love is patient, love is kind.  Love is lonely without you.  Love is real-life porn, minus all the stuff that makes porn cool.  Love is the greatest feeling.  Love is a decision.  Love is not simply another step up.  Love is like a play.  Love is not a game.  Love is a battlefield.  Love is not a crime.  Love is not love that is not also madness.  Love is louder.  Love is all.  Love is not all.  Love is enough.  Love is not enough.  Love is spelled T-I-M-E.  Love is to give without expecting anything in return.  Love is not a one way street.  Love is good and wise but not always easy going.  Love is a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.  Love is the highest form of energy and generates feelings of joy and happiness in both the receiver and the giver, and it can heal the body.  Love is the tool, and more love is the end product.  Love is not singular except in syllable.  Love is deep.  Love is funny.  Love is not this way.  Love is this.

Um, ok.  That's vague.  And contradictory.  And sort of logically impossible.  And, at the end of it all, I am still left with the same question I started with:  What is love?
 
Maybe the answer is that the question is unanswerable.  Love looks different between every two people that are in it.  It is everything and nothing in particular at the same time.  To label a feeling "love" or not is completely arbitrary.  Calling something love is like calling it "blue"; it could be periwinkle, sky, cerulean, cyan, azure, sapphire, denim or any other of a number of different shades.  Yet, to call any of those colors "blue" is not necessarily inaccurate.  Blue is many things, and so is love.
 

Determining whether the combination of feelings, connections, and actions between two people constitutes love is not as important as the fact that such a combination exists and affects our state of being.  Who is to say what precise proportions of compulsion, joy, pain, anxiety, desire, jealousy, concern and tenderness equal love?  The way that combination of emotions influences your treatment of another person, your ordering of priorities, and your sense of yourself is much more important than how you name it.  In fact, often, the effect of emotion transcends mere identification. 
 
This transcendence can be a problem for us because the ability to name a thing is what gives us a feeling of control -- and the consequent ability to set expectations and measure performance.  If it is love, it is higher than lust, which is higher than like, which is higher than loathe.  We are driven to order our feelings like we order society, priorities, and the world at large.  To allow a feeling to simply exist without naming it is to surrender that control.  To let the thing pulse and breathe on its own.  To watch it grow into whatever it is meant to be.  Too often we strangle the most beautiful, complicated emotions we have simply because we can't fit them into the emotional landscape we have painted for ourselves.  But, ultimately the feelings exist outside of a name, and more important than labeling them is simply letting them live.  
 
So, what is love?  I haven't a clue.  But, I have a hunch that the feeling itself won't just come out and tell you what to call it, so anything's love if you want it be.  (Of course, it may also be blue.)
 

Love is all around New York City, in one way or another.  Here's where I've been finding it recently...

 
Beauty Bar
East 14th St. between 2nd and 3rd Aves.

Love is all over the dance floor at 2 a.m.  Beauty Bar looks small and iffy from the outside, but is a hipster dance haven inside.  It is just what it appears to be:  an old hair salon converted into a bar come dance club.  In the front room, a sometimes-nice bartender serves a small selection of beers on tap and your basic mixed drinks, while a manicurist offers $10 martini-cures (martini + manicure) for a few hours every night.  The back room, which opens to the public at 11 p.m., is a wide open dance floor lined with barber chairs and a second bar.  The music on the nights I've been there hits the classics from 80s hair bands through Lady Gaga.  And, on a full moon, the dancing can get pretty rowdy.
 

Cowgirl Cupcakes
East 10th St. between 1st Ave and Ave A
Love (of animals) is the only real reason to come here.  This bakery opened up a couple of months ago, offering a variety of baked goods from cupcakes to knishes as well as some savory snacks.  It's cute, clean, and convenient (to my apt in the East Village, anyway).  The animal-lover owners named the place after one of their cats.  The bonus is they're all vegan all the time.  The problem is that, while they're probably good for vegan sweets, they aren't that good over all.  But, then again, I've only had the baked goods -- so, the verdict is still out on everything else. 
 
 
má pêche
West 56th St. between 5th and 6th Aves.

Love is a decent, affordable dinner spot near Lincoln Center.  má pêche (which is French for something about fish) is a Momofuku (which means lucky peach) restaurant in Midtown, which makes it a great option if you're in the neighborhood for a Broadway show or an Opera.  It's one of the few not terribly expensive restaurants (ahem, Per Se) in the area, but the food is still beautiful and tasty.  We had the oysters, which were just as good if not better than those at the John Dory (West 29th and Broadway), and a variety of small plates and fish courses.  Everything is sort of a French-Asian fusion, which means there's ginger in everything, and it really works.  The restaurant is also home to one of the two Momofuku Milk Bars in the city, which is exciting if you like the crack pie (which apparently everybody does).  We did have some questions about the use of vertical space in the restaurant, as the ceilings are at least 25 feel high, and no real use is made of the open air space -- practical, artistic, or otherwise -- which we found odd for an NYC establishment.  Here's to thinking outside of the (very large) box!