The meaningful stuff of love.

I have a nice breakfast. Skip lunch. And dine well and slowly in the evening. That’s my routine. Come to think of it, I live sort of routinely. By a predictable schedule. Don’t know if I like that. I write. I walk. I think. Therefore, I am. And I spend time with my Italian true love. Maybe I should make more effort to break out of my routine. To some day do something alarmingly/surprisingly different. Even the fact that I’m living almost half of the year in Italy, and the other half in Minnesota – well, that’s become routine, too. And I’m routinely in love. If there is such a thing as routine love. Thing is, it shouldn’t be. There should be something new and different about love. On a daily basis. A constant renewal. Seems to me that I learn something new about my true love every day. And that I could spend 1,000 years with her, and still learn something new. For as long as I keep looking. For eternity. One should not allow love to become humdrum. Lost in the routine. That’s the danger to guard against. When my true love and I are separated by distance, I try to write a love letter every night. That’s a routine. But each night, I try to have something new to say. That ain’t a routine. It’s renewal. The meaningful stuff of love. –Jim Broede