On love.

I have had one perfect mixed tape made for me in my life...and I think that is something rare and amazing in itself. Not to get all Nick Hornby about it, but to be the recipient of so much thought, joy and winking humor during the heady flirting days of infatuation is a divine gift.

The power of music is obvious when you are away from the sources of your memories. I heard one of the songs from that epic mixed tape when I was out tonight (done with a Euro-dance beat, of course) and I was instantly transported back to the sunny streets of South Pasadena. Then, when I sat down to write and iTunes started shuffling, a T. Rex song that is all top hats and husbands was the first song to play. And I was sent back to Friday nights with many cocktails and impromptu dance parties in the living room.

But the second song that played was my own: discovered while I was here, with the help of a musical pied piper at work who sends out weekly suggestions with excellent commentary to accompany them. I feel like this song belongs to me. Years from now, when I hear it again, I will think of Sunday mornings in the black and white chair, views from train windows on the way to somewhere new and bike rides home in foggy air.

Which brings me to love. I have been thinking about love a lot lately -- shouting about it loudly inside my head. Mr. Epic Mix Tape was the first man I ever loved without reservation or protection. He brought chaos and destruction along with laughter and that indescribable feeling of being, not only seen, but celebrated for being exactly me. ["Rebel Girl" is playing right now -- featured on another great mixed tape I received many years ago from a manboy with blue hair. Irony. Love that.] When he left, I emotionally packed up because I was sure I would never feel that way about anyone ever again and I was certainly never going to open myself up to that kind of hurt. I became a Jean-Val-Jean disciple -- better to have loved and lost...blah blah blah.

There were a few years of searching and failure after that [see Blue Hair], and then I met Mr. T. Rex on a blind date. I won't write about my marriage or what went wrong, except to say that I spent 10 years loving a man as best I could, and I know he did the same. Our collective best, unfortunately, wasn't enough to elevate either one of us, which I think love should do. There are happy memories and many regrets. I wish I could talk to him sometimes.

And then I was given the greatest gift ever. I got Tom. As I said, I never thought I could be unprotected ever again, but with him, I am. All the warts, all the doubts, all the geeky enthusiasm. He lifts me up without even trying and is the most secure, patient, funny man I have ever known. And he loves me. The biggest difference of this love and old loves? I know how lucky I am, I know how lucky he is, I know that love should be balls out and exuberant. There has never been a moment where he made me feel less than amazing -- in fact, he sees someone in me who is a far better person than I see.

I wonder, sometimes, if Tom is a reward, ala Maria and the Captain ("Somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done something good."). Perhaps he is. Or perhaps this type of love is our birthright -- the Manifest Destiny of emotions. I don't know. Regardless, it is good and affirming in a myriad of ways. And I close this post listening to "Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen. Again. Irony.