What is Love? - Newnan Times-Herald

That’s a really good question.

So Ali McGraw says to Ryan O’Neal in the 1971 movie, “Love Story,” “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

“I completely understand and agree with this statement,” said no one, ever. Not even Eric Segal, the guy who wrote that ridiculous line knows what it means, really. He has admitted as much.

A musical theater fan might think of dozens upon dozens of musicals that attempt to answer the question. And not only what, but where love is. A young orphan, Oliver Twist innocently sings, “Where is love?” asking if it falls from the skies or maybe it’s underneath a willow tree he has been dreaming of. Oh, my heart.

Cher asked, “Do You Believe in Life after Love?” The quality of said life may be more to the point of the question. However, I get her reference. Plus, “Do You Believe in the Quality of Life after Love?” just doesn’t scan.

Foreigner, the band, demanded, “I Wanna Know What Love Is.” Whitney Houston belted, “I-ee-I Will Always Love You.” The Bee Gees needed to know “How Deep is Your Love?” And Queen sang about a “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” Elvis confessed, “I Can’t Help Falling in love With You,” and Perry Como crooned two of my favorite love songs of all time, “And I Love You So,” and “It’s Impossible.” Tina Turner asked the ultimate question, “What’s Love Got to Do With It?” With what? Don’t ask. Tina insists it’s a secondhand emotion. Whatever that means.

Love is what, exactly? And who, where, why and when is it?

My 9-year old self sat cross-legged on the floor leaning my back against my parents’ console record player as I listened to Ricky Nelson. Rapt, I swooned over Ricky’s gigantic, full-color head shot on his album cover. I cried when he sang, “Many a tear has to fall, but it’s all in the game … that we know as love.” All I knew was Ricky Nelson awoke a longing in my heart that made it physically hurt, and then made me cry. I thought I must’ve been in love with him and surely it was true romantic love, albeit unrequited. Not the love I had for my parents, certainly, I reasoned. Although, I had cried plenty over them, especially when I got a whuppin’ for bad behavior. I felt love for my parents, too, especially when we hugged, for no reason other than to say I love you. That was a different kind of love, obviously. I knew that much.

But the romantic stuff was tough.

Then came the treacly songs like “Put your Head on My Shoulder” and “They Called it Puppy Love.” Paul Anka. 1960. I was 10. These were ballads that once again set me up for great expectations of love that, as defined by the lyrics, required pain and pathos, an aching heart, histrionics and hot tears. It caused me to wonder if my love for Ricky Nelson was real. I had the tears. I had the pain. But now I was confused by this new brand of affection called puppy love.

Little Anthony certainly had tears on his pillow, and in 1961 Ella Fitzgerald sang the torch song slap, “(You Can) Cry Me a River (’Cause I Cried a River Over You).” So now love’s tears and pain included sleepless nights and sardonic, passive aggressive anger. What the heck?

I sang along in 1962 with the Shirelles to “Soldier Boy.” I knew nothing of saying goodbye to a loved one who goes to war. As a newly minted teen when Peter, Paul and Mary came out with their haunting song, “Cruel War” I felt that same, familiar message of pain and heartache, but I was maturing and coming into a different, deeper understanding. By 1965 The Vietnam War was beginning to call our boys to war. I would soon begin to grasp all too well the pain of love and loss through war.

The Supremes warned “You Can’t Hurry Love” and cautioned “Stop in the Name of Love (Before You Break My Heart).” By this time, Little Anthony had escalated his emotions and was “Goin’ Out of My Head (Over You).” And when the Beatles sang, “Yesterday” (“all my troubles seemed so far away”), I was wrecked. Now love also included troubled times, sad memories and insanity.

By 1972, I was married and truly in love. I often propped a guitar on my lap and sang Roberta Flack’s elegiac ballad, “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.” I adored the positive imagery of the sun rising in a loved one’s eyes, and the moon and stars as gifts a loved one could give to dark and endless skies.

But neither of us had really been tested yet. Only through years of marriage and commitment to each other did we learn about the work, about what real love gives and takes amid trials and triumphs, mistakes and forgiveness, good times and bad times.

It had been during our wedding in 1971 that the real definition of love was made clear. You know this one: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.” I know it was written more as an admonishment originally to people behaving badly in the Bible, but I took it as a positive definition of how to love. And I took it seriously.

Since then I have experienced love in all those ways, and I have seen it in others.

Love is the guy who, gladly and without a complaint, pushes his disabled wife in her wheelchair all the way to the square in downtown Newnan and back to their home.

Love is the response from our community to those who needed them after the tornado in March 2021.

Love is caring about the people of Ukraine and donating food, clothing, housing and sanctuary.

Love is quiet service, sacrifice, hardship, compassion, giving, receiving, forgiveness and grace.

Love is spending time devoting attention, affirmation and affection to another person, or to a cause, or a living thing, or to a higher power greater than oneself.

And that brings me to this weekend. Easter weekend, and also Passover. Also Ramadan. It’s all about love and sacrifice, y’all. We do well to concentrate on that and choose it as a paradigm for every single day we live. Love a stranger, love a neighbor, love a spouse, love a child, love a parent, love a friend, love a higher power, love life. Leave hate, self-aggrandizement and aggression behind.

And for goodness sake and the love of Elvis, love means always being willing to say you’re sorry. How else do we get to forgiveness and grace?

Longtime Newnan resident Susie Berta has many creative pursuits, including music, art, writing, cooking, gardening, entertaining and decorating. She is now pursuing her passion for writing and recently published her memoir, “The Veterinarian’s Wife,” which is available now on Amazon and locally at Corner Arts Gallery and Gift Shop. She can be reached at susie.berta@gmail.com.

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What is Love? - Newnan Times-Herald
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