What's Love Got to Do With It?

“How do you do all this stuff?” Ebony asked. She was leaning against the island in my kitchen looking at some hand-painted tiles I’d left on the table amidst the debris of my family’s daily lives – school books, dirty glasses, unopened mail, stale bread crumbs. “You write, too, right?” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I do some of this and some of that.” I shoved a crusty pan away from the sleeve of her sweater.
“I write,” she said, “but it’s hard when you don’t feel like it. Do you always feel like it?”
“No,” I said. “I just do it anyway. Like a job.”

Our conversation made me think of Tina Turner. No. Really. In 1993, on almost every radio station in the country, Tina’s rough, burning voice howled, “What’s Love Got to Do With It?” It’s the question of a cynic: someone too wounded or too ignorant to embrace the deeper sensibilities; a bottom liner; somebody with a capitalist’s soul. I felt sorry for any one who had been hurt so deeply that they locked their heart in long-term storage and swallowed the key. I believed then, as I do now, that Love is at the crux of everything. After all: “What the World Needs Now is Love Sweet Love.” “Love Makes the World Go ‘Round.” “Love is a Many Splendored Thing.” Even Rumi said, “Let the Beauty you Love be what you do.” I decided several years ago to do what I love every day. Life’s too short, after all. And if I turn out to be one of those lucky ones who lives into her 100’s (which is my plan), I’ll have had a great time. I’m a great big old Love cheerleader (“give me an ‘L’ ….” )

But sometimes it doesn’t matter. I mean, sometimes I don’t feel the love for the things that I love. The thought of sitting in front of a blank page freezes my mind as blank as the screen. The alarm goes off, signaling it’s time to wake up and head to the studio, and I just lie there because it’s cold and dark outside and my work isn’t working and I don’t know what to do next or even why I’m doing it. The workshop I was planning seems inane and nobody will come anyway. Why in the world didn’t I finish my biology degree? A writing major? What was I thinking? And that’s when I have to embrace Tina’s song. What do my feelings have to do with it? There are days and even weeks when I don’t feel like it. So what. It’s time to write. Write anyway. Paint in the cold and dark. The sun will come up. It’s not about the feeling. It’s about the choice.

I tell Ebony, “I can’t wait for the feeling.” That’s how I do all this stuff. That, and my ability to ignore dirty dishes until there’s nothing left to eat off of. Eventually they’ll get washed. But right now, I’ve got work to do.