Lovability

Ice, ice, baby...

A couple of days ago I watched a man on the sidewalk as he stood next to a sign that read, “Love. A Feeling or a Choice?” He was surveying those who passed by which one they felt defined love best. I did not approach him, but I mused over the question for a while before deciding that neither option was satisfactory. They don’t go deep enough, because love cannot simply be a choice or a feeling. It’s both – it is an ability.

A character in the film Dan in Real Life (a very funny and sincere movie) mentions this to the protagonist at one point. I’ll try to explore my interpretation of its meaning. When I say love is an ability, I’m not referring to it as a skill so much as the basic idea that it’s something you are able to do. You possess the will and the emotion, a synchronized harmony, that is necessary for love to be cultivated between two people.

For argument’s sake, let’s claim that love is just a feeling. I agree with this to the extent that I do not believe we can choose who we have feelings for. Love can be sneaky. It can also stampede right past you and leave your head spinning like a top. But the emotion happens some way or another. It can be blindsiding, or it can be a slow burn that requires a little patience before it ignites. So at the end of the day you have all these feelings floating around. That’s great, but now what do you do with them?

Circumstances dictate the tempo of our lives and every single one of us experiences moments where we swim with or against the current. Love doesn’t respect this system and it certainly doesn’t cater to what is convenient, only to what is true. This is where choice comes into play. You can harbor all the feelings in the world for someone, but will you choose to act on them? I’m going to sidestep this for a moment, because you might be thinking, “Cameron, look! You said ‘feelings’ before ‘choose,’ so your logic reveals that love, at its root, is a feeling and not a choice.”
 
You’d be right, but not entirely. Again, I think that, fundamentally speaking, we can’t choose to feel authentic love for a person. It just happens, like an itch or a spontaneous craving for Jelly Bellies. You could fake it, but it wouldn’t mean anything. I also believe that in order to experience true love, the emotion has to genuinely exist and come foremost. That’s just my opinion, but the argument that this means love can be defined as only a feeling is flawed when considering the bigger picture.

Going back to where we were: You have these warm & cozy emotions, but they’re essentially worthless unless acted upon. How are you supposed to share love with someone, not simply have love for them, if they’re unaware of your affections? Something at sometime somewhere needs to coalesce, and that requires the choice of action.

Now, you tell me which one is more valid. The feeling, or the choice?

I say neither. How does the saying go…It’s not what you feel, but what you do, that counts. Love is not this black and white, but the idea still holds weight. The love you feel isn’t tangible unless you are willing and able to do something about it.

Perhaps you’re willing yet, for whatever reason, still unable. This doesn’t mean your love for someone isn’t genuine or less meaningful, your ability to love this person has simply been cut short. Maybe the timing is off. The circumstantial flow is sweeping you in another direction. Love is rather pesky this way. Some are able to oppose the current, while others are not. There’s no right or wrong answer here. It’s a personal choice that doesn’t necessarily have bearing on the emotional element, but the ability to love is affected nonetheless. A few are lucky enough to find both their lives and their love ambitions moving in the same direction. Whether by providence or preparation, if this applies to your life, don’t ever take it for granted. Love completely and for the right reasons. Make it worth it for those who are still searching, still wanting, or still waiting. Everything has a way of working itself out in the end.

We choose to feel; we feel, therefore we choose.

A Day In The Barmy Army

Jeld-Wen officials enshroud the Timbers Army in smoke, attempting to obscure all the middle fingers from TV viewers.

  OK, full disclosure: I should admit that I don’t have a history of being a soccer enthusiast. Nor would I try to claim to be one even now. This is due in large part to ignorance. There was no culture of soccer in my house growing up. I never played it as a kid because my friends and I were into Pokémon cards and Mario Party. Whenever soccer came on the television it was usually because I just happened to flip past it while searching for reruns of Batman.

Major League Soccer is on the rise, but the majority of Americans still haven’t bought into it. Soccer is, after all, a game about tension. Both teams poke and prod one another, searching for weaknesses before moving in for the kill. To the uninitiated, it would seem as if nothing is happening. But the tactics involved run far deeper than appearances warrant. Consider it this way: Think of football as the roller coaster ride that constantly dips and weaves at high speed in all directions, assaulting your senses with adrenaline for its duration. Soccer would be a long track that moves in one direction, but has probably three or four steep, exhilarating drops. The euphoria comes in bursts, and the excitement in the crowd builds over time before cascading over in a roaring torrent of hugs, cheers, and jubilee.

It is an electrifying buzz.

   
I only started to appreciate it after joining a city league team at the behest of my roommate at the time. I had no idea what I was doing, and I began watching soccer games to figure out how they worked. After playing in several games myself, I was humbled by the amazing levels of fitness the professionals attain. All they do is sprint for 90+ minutes and make plays on the fly.

The Portland Timbers have been around for a while, but the club only joined Major League Soccer in 2011. Their fan base is raucous and fiercely loyal. They pile into the Jeld-Wen stands with flags and scarves to spill beer on one another and launch fusillades of expletive-ridden hymns at the opposing team until their windpipes give out. This is soccer, and often there are long stretches where not much is going on, so the Timbers Army makes up for it by singing as many obnoxiously vulgar songs as possible while someone bangs away at a bass drum to keep the tempo.

Why, yes, this is a bratwurst wrapped in bacon with beer-soaked onions on a pretzel bun. Nope, I didn't eat it.*


*Lie

  It’s a brutal and unforgiving atmosphere. If any Timbers player takes a hard foul and remains on the ground for more than a few seconds, the entire stadium shrugs until he’s up on his feet. But if opposing players get the wind knocked out of them and stall the game, they receive boos and are relentlessly mocked as pussies. Chants of “There’s no pity in the Rose City,” and “Shoot him like a horse!” ring loud until play resumes.

   

So when an official makes a poor call, I can scream, “That’s fucking bullshit!” at the top of my lungs, and no one pays me any mind because they’re all doing the exact same thing – maybe with a sturdy middle finger or two held high for good measure.
    
Now, I absolutely loved being a part of the game day experience at Autzen Stadium. It was brilliant fun and will remain with me for the rest of my life. But I must say, after being on the proverbial leash of the Oregon Marching Band for five years, I took cathartic pleasure in being part of this completely unhinged form of cheering. I could never (openly) swear in uniform. I couldn’t balance a cup of Widmer Gold & Green in one hand while swinging a scarf above my head like a madman in the other. One could argue that the Autzen student section raises plenty of hell on its own. They do, but to a point. I see the Timbers Army as what a marriage between the student section and band would look like. As a band member, whenever the fans would cheer I had to play my instrument. If a particular call sucked and fans started booing, I still had to play my instrument. At the Timbers match I didn’t have to be a good sport. I didn’t have to play Mighty Oregon if something bad happened. Instead, I got to put my arm around the guy next to me and sway back and forth with everyone else, singing “Fuck’em All,” over and over again.

And my oh my, was it bliss.