Author, author?

A long time ago, there was a pop song that wafts into my brain now and again.  See if you remember:

"I wonder, wonder who ooh, who who wrote the book of love?"  Way back in the 1950's, The Monotones were asking the age-old question:  why do some folks love us and others turn away?

Everyone has those moments, I believe, those moments of introspection when we long for the affections of someone.  But what determines any reciprocity of feeling?  The scientific answer might be pheromones, our own lovely little scent.  But I, right or wrong, alight pheromones more with sexual attraction more than just "let's be friends."

Some people go through life gathering up displaced souls.  Is that a conscious or unconscious need for love or truly a great and noble heart?  Jury's out on that in my mind; I want to believe the latter, but have seen way too much of the former.

There are what I call the convenient relationships, where one party's phone and email burn up constantly, only to leave the other person wondering what in the world happened when the seemingly needy other has moved on to a new pigeon to pick up the kids, tidy the house, and stand constant call duty.

Jealousy can rear its head in more than just romantic episodes of our life.  You find a potential talent in another, and you want to train up that person.  But sometimes the protege ends up out shining the mentor.  Where once the mentor was the star, the protege has surpassed their achievements and is still rising, causing a need to knock down the rising star sometimes in the hurt mentor's ego.  Both parties are wounded when what was perceived as a close friendship devolves into a destructive game of one-upsmanship.

Blended families are a minefield of emotional pitfalls.  No matter the age of the families involved, it's never going to be The Brady Bunch.  There's always that long-buried blasting cap that's going to go off somewhere.  Love and trust are not always easily given or accepted.  Each person on earth has baggage they carry.  Heartbreak and loneliness are often the by-product.

This is not a piece about romantic love, so leave it as such.  It's an essay about the guy always left holding the emotional bag and wondering who did write that book of love.  Take it as introspection, self-searching, whatever.  Why do A + B not always equal C?  Because each of us have our own shortcomings in our own way, and we all have a perceptive filter.  The guy holding the emotional bag all the time may see it that way, but could it not be his perspective through the veil of his personal experiences as well?

When you find the answer, please let us know.