Falling or Jumping in Love?
The Difference is the Intention
We've all heard the phrase "falling in love," but have we ever considered its curious implications? The very notion suggests a lack of agency as if love were some cosmic banana peel upon which we haplessly slip. But what if, instead of tumbling headlong into romance, we chose to leap into it with eyes and hearts wide open?
Let us consider, for a moment, the act of falling. It's rarely a graceful affair. One minute, we're upright, feeling rather pleased with our bipedal competence, and the next, we're sprawled on the pavement, dignity in tatters, wondering how gravity could betray us so cruelly.
Falling in love often follows a similar trajectory. We're minding our own business, perhaps smugly congratulating ourselves on our independence, when suddenly we find ourselves emotionally prostrate before another human being, babbling nonsense and writing terrible poetry.
Jumping, on the other hand, requires forethought and muscular effort. We survey the terrain, bend our knees, and propel ourselves skyward with purposeful abandon. There's an element of risk – we might misjudge the distance or land awkwardly – but there's also a thrilling sense of choice and possibility.
So why do we persist in describing the onset of romantic love as a fall rather than a jump?
Perhaps it's because the idea of falling absolves us of responsibility. If we fall in love, we can't be blamed for the consequences. It was an accident, you see. We were just walking along, minding our business, when Cupid's arrow struck us unawares. How were we to defend against such celestial marksmanship?
But what if we dared to jump instead? What if we approached love not as hapless victims of emotion but as willing adventurers? It would require a radical redefinition of romance that prizes intention over serendipity, choice over chance.
Imagine a world where instead of "falling" for someone, we "ascended" into love. Our romantic narratives would be transformed. No longer would we swoon over stories of star-crossed lovers brought together by fate.
Instead, we'd celebrate stories of clear-eyed individuals who, after careful consideration, decide to embark on the grand adventure of partnership together.
"But wait," you might protest, "isn't there something magical about falling in love? Doesn't planning it take away the romance?"
To which I would counter: is there not magic in the act of choosing? Is there not profound romance in looking at another person – flaws, quirks, and all – and saying, "Yes, I choose you, not because I've been struck by some uncontrollable force, but because I see in you a worthy co-adventurer for life's journey"?
Of course, one might argue that the initial spark of attraction – that delightful, stomach-fluttering moment of connection – is indeed something that happens to us rather than something we consciously choose.
And there's truth in that. We can't always control to whom we're drawn. But we can control what we do with that initial attraction. Do we let it sweep us off our feet, or do we use it as a springboard from which to jump?
Imagine how our approach to relationships might change if we embraced the "jumping" metaphor.
Instead of anxiously wondering if we're "falling" for someone, we might ask ourselves, "Am I ready to jump into love with this person?" It shifts the focus from passive emotion to active choice, from something that happens to us to something we do.
This is not to say that jumping in love is without risk. Any leap into the unknown carries the possibility of a hard landing. But there's a world of difference between the person who stumbles off a cliff and the one who bungee jumps from it. Both may experience the same rush of adrenaline, the same exhilarating free fall, but only one has a cord to pull them back to safety.
In love, that cord is intention. It's the conscious decision to commit, to work through difficulties, to choose your partner again and again, even when the initial euphoria fades. It's the difference between being a passive passenger in your romantic life and an active participant.
So, gentle reader(*wink), I invite you to consider: Are you content to wait for love to trip you up, or are you brave enough to jump? Will you let yourself fall, or will you leap with purpose? The choice, as in all matters of the heart, is yours.
Remember – in love, as in life, it's not about avoiding the risk of getting hurt. It's about deciding that someone is worth the risk.
