i’m an over-eager love-r.

rephrase: i’m one of those hyperbolic overenthusiasts who constantly spit out the word “love” like a baseball pitching machine that always delivers an identical throw.

chalk it up to the ease in which i’m made excitable over little things, like completing a salsa step without faltering for the first time or hearing a new song that i rush to download, or winning American Idol tickets (yes, I have my guilty teeny-bopper pleasures) from a radio station, or discovering that the Only 8 flavors of the week are my favorite combination. for all of these things, i just might drop the “L” word, and in different forms, i probably mean it each time.

i’ve been called out on this many-a times. it’s always, “wait, Shawna, isn’t this song your favorite song this week?”, or “do you love that? like, really love it?” and it’s all in good fun, and i’m completely comfortable with my enthusiastic and sometimes over-eager lust for every day occurrences (like the very best shoes ever that i found shopping with Molly in Lee, Mass.). but it’s gotten me thinking…

do i really love these things, or do i focus this form of excitable appreciation onto material possessions and social outings more fervently and frequently than i show my true gratitude and love for the people in my life? apparently i’ve conditioned myself to throw “love” around ever-so-lightly, so that in its assumption of the trite, i’ve really invented a hundred little loves around which my life is constructed. and how do you know what you really love, when you seem to love it all differently?

i should enjoy doing things because i love the people with whom i’m doing them. after all, i would still get an incredible adrenalin rush from snowboarding if i went alone, but it’s more fun to share the experience of a beautiful powder day with someone else who can exclaim about the conditions and laugh beside me on the lift. i’ve recently become border-line consumed with the desire to become an overnight salsa prodigy (which i am not, unfortunately), but would i enjoy salsa half as much if i was dancing alone? it’s the person leading me through the dance and the rush of others swirling around me to the beat of the music that thrills and entices me to want to move my feet as much as the actual steps themselves. do i love the jewelry my parents give me? not in the same way i love them.

i should re-think my verb scattering, really, and save my loves for those shining things. perhaps everything else i can learn to simply cherish, or enjoy, or really, really like. i don’t want to love everything just a little and then nothing quite enough to draw a golden line of distinction and separate those truly precious things in my life from those around which i’ve formed infatuations.

how i love words.

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