The Power of I Love You

Back in May, I met up with Shannon, longtime friend and owner of the blog, the creation of beauty is art.. We usually get together every few months for lunch or dinner and an outing of some sort, even if that outing is a simple stroll around a local mall. It’s a chance to catch up, have some face-to-face socializing, and to simply spend time with a friend. I picked her up, we went glow-in-the-dark mini putting, went for a stroll around a mall, had dinner, and then I dropped her off home again.

As she got out of the car, she said something that made me both smile and stop in my tracks. “I love you.” I love you. Words society reserves only for the most intimate and romantic of relationships were said to me by a friend at the end of a perfectly normal get-together.

For some context, Shannon and I met in a way that almost feels fated. Logically, I know it was coincidence, but there’s a spot of dialogue from one of my favourite shows, BBC Sherlock that runs through my head whenever I chalk something up to coincidence. The dialogue reads as such:

Sherlock: “Could be a coincidence.”
Mycroft: “Oh, Sherlock. What do we say about coincidence?”
Sherlock: “The universe is rarely so lazy.” 

The universe is rarely so lazy.

Shannon and I met briefly in downtown Toronto in May 2004 outside MuchMusic waiting for our favourite band at the time to leave through one of four possible routes out of the studio parking lot. We’d picked the same one, hoped for the best, and then got talking about another of our favourite bands. The band we were there to see didn’t choose our driveway to leave by, and after realizing this, Shannon and I went our separate ways. I headed home, not thinking I’d ever run into her again. I hadn’t even gotten her name. Fast forward to August 17, 2004, and I was, once again, waiting for our favourite band in Toronto. This time, it was for one of their concerts, a general admission show which meant we were going to be waiting all day because the venue was standing room only and the best views were first come, first serve. I left the line to get something to eat, and in the burger place up the street, I ran into Shannon again. We recognized each other immediately, and asked how the other had been. Later on, while we were preparing to finally enter the concert venue, she and I actually started talking. We exchanged emails and MSNs (yes, MSN… yes, I am that old), and thus began what has gone on to be 22 years of friendship. Yes, twenty-two (22!) years of friendship. Our friendship has had its ups and downs, we’ve had disagreements on things (some more important than others), but we’ve always held our friendship above everything else. We have agreed to disagree on minor things, but our morals are pretty much in line with each other’s. We have loved, and walked away from, the same artists – including the band at whose appearances we met. I was at her wedding and hopefully she’ll be at mine if that is in the cards for me. We have been each other’s ears and shoulders when times have been rough. We don’t see each other as often as we’d like to – we live three towns away from each other and only one of us has occasional access to a vehicle – but we talk when we can, usually through Messenger. We both lead busy, sometimes demanding lives, and Messenger allows us the space and opportunity to respond when we have a few minutes. This is especially important when our replies to each other can be three or four paragraphs long and span two or three topics all at once. In the end, our friendship has been solid, and I am grateful to have her in my life.

I have never doubted the love in our friendship. Love is a word we have used in the messages we write in the cards we give each other at birthdays and Christmas. The words, I love you have been written in those messages, too. But, unless my memory is incorrect (which is possible), the end of our most recent outing is the first time I’ve heard those words from her. And this got me thinking.

Did you know that there are languages in which there are multiple words for the English word love? There are also languages in which there is more than one way to say, “I love you”. For example, in Spanish, the phrases te quiero and te amo both mean “I love you”, but to different degrees. The verb quiero means “I want”, but when paired in a phrase like, te quiero, it is a casual, platonic way of saying, “I love you”. Te amo is reserved for those in deep, romantic relationships. And then, there’s Greek, which has six different words for love, and they all mean slightly different things.

Agape – (agápē) is the concept of the love we have for community and deities. It is translated, literally as “affection”, as in “greet with affection” and “show affection for the dead”. In Christian contexts, agape means “love, unconditional love, charity; the love of God for a person and the love of a person for God”. It has also been described as “to will the good of another”. If I interpret this correctly, agape is the love we have for a higher being, those we miss, and the general hope that those in our community are doing well.
Eros – (érōs) is the concept of sexual and erotic love. In Greek mythology, Eros (Cupid to the Romans) is the god of love and sex and is seen as either a primordial god or as the son of Aphrodite. The word eros translates to “love, sexual passion”. The Modern Greek word erotas means “intimate love”, and these words are where we get the terms erotic and erotica from. According to Plato, eros is initially felt for a person, but by extension, it becomes an appreciation of the beauty within that person or an appreciation of beauty itself. This gives rise to the concept of platonic love to mean “without physical attraction”.
Philautia – (philautía) is the concept of loving oneself. The word itself means “self-love”. Self-love can be both positive and negative; loving ourselves enough to treat ourselves in healthy ways or loving ourselves so much we disregard everyone else. This can also be interpreted as self-compassion and as the root of a general kind of love we have for family, friends, and our hobbies and interests.
Philia – (philía) is the love we have for those we see as equals. Our friends (“brotherly love”), our colleagues, our family, our community. Philia means “affectionate regard, friendship”, usually displayed between equals. It is a love that requires all parties to be on equal footing. This word is found in the name of the city of Philadelphia (philíos, “dear, beloved” or phileo, “to love” and adelphos, “brother”. Literally, “brotherly love”). We also find the related philos, “friend, lover” in the given name, Philip. (“Friend of horses”. Philos, “friend, lover” and hippos, “horse”.)
Storge – (storgē) is the concept of the love between parents and their children. It is also thought to describe acceptance or tolerance, of “loving the tyrant”. Hate the sin, love the sinner. By extension, storge can be used to describe one’s love of their country or their favourite sports team.
Xenia – (xenía) is the concept of hospitality, also known as “guest-friendship”. This represents generosity, hospitality towards travellers, welcoming foreigners. The whole hospitality industry is based on xenia.

Six different words to describe different kinds of love. There is some overlap, but the idea of being able to properly name the type of love one has for another person is fascinating to me. I kind of wish English had the same. Maybe then, the idea of saying “I love you” wouldn’t feel so heavy or so intimate.

I wish English also had more than one word for love. Maybe it’s just my experience, but we don’t say those words enough. Maybe it’s because we don’t have multiple words for love that it seems like society has reserved those words to be said between people who are in close romantic and familial relationships. And even for the latter of those examples, it seems like those words are only exchanged when children are young. Perhaps my perception of this is based on my own personal experiences and yours are different. If yours are positively different than mine, that is wonderful. For me, I can’t remember the last time I heard I love you come from those close to me, other than when Shannon said them to me back in May. I know I haven’t heard them since.

In no way am I saying I don’t feel loved by those around me. I feel it when close friends ask “How are you?” and understand the unspoken weight behind my response of, “I am” or “I’m upright.” They know there’s more there that I can’t talk about because of time or place or who else happens to be around. I see it when friends set an evening aside so I can talk about things that have been going on in confidence and privacy. I’ve experienced it in those who stepped forward and supported me during traumatic events – people who have fed me (and made sure I actually ate), people who have told me I am staying at their place because I shouldn’t be alone, people who have walked with me to my car so I didn’t have to do it alone, people who have made sure I haven’t put myself last. These people, if they’re reading this, should all know who they are. Those who have shown up have shown up, and those displays of love have meant more to me than I have probably ever conveyed. And I certainly haven’t forgotten those who have shown up in digital spaces. They are just as important as those who have physically shown up.

The afore paragraph demonstrates that acts of love speak louder than words of love. This has been proven to me time and time again. Still, sometimes, it is nice to hear those words spoken. One of my favourite songs is Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol and there’s a lyric in it that goes like this: “Those three words are said too much. They’re not enough.” I both agree and disagree with this lyric. Or, at the very least, my experience agrees and disagrees. I agree that simply saying “I love you” isn’t enough; I disagree with the notion that it is said too much. For me, it’s not said enough.

So, as you turn your attention from this blog post and back to the outside world, do me a favour? Tell someone you love them. Not just your spouse. Tell your sibling(s), your cousins, tell your friends, heck, tell your pets (my cats, Misty and Acorn, heard me tell them I loved them all the time). Saying “I love you” doesn’t have to be reserved for spouses and parents and children. Platonic love is just as important as romantic and familial love. Tell someone you love them the next time you see them.

And until next time, stay safe, stay well, and keep on keeping on.

I love you.

Catherine

What’s In a Name?

 I am a writer. Primarily, I write fanfiction, but I am also working on a High Fantasy trilogy, and have been for a count of years I will not divulge here. As a writer, I spend a lot of time naming characters, including when I write original characters into my fanfiction, which, admittedly, is something I thoroughly enjoy doing. If you were to take a look through the files and folders for my stories, you would find lists upon lists upon lists of names. I spend hours, days, weeks, finding the perfect names for my very imperfect characters. I choose my characters’ names based on meaning and how that pertains to their character arc, their personality, the role, or roles, they play within the story. I very seldomly start a fanfic or novel until each original character, especially the major ones, are named as perfectly as I can name them. Then, and only then, do I feel confident enough to begin writing.

Why do I spend such time on naming characters? Because names are important. They are the first indication we have as to who someone is. Names are our identities. They inform others of who we are, even if it’s only on a surface level.

Those of you who have been following my blog for a while have probably noticed a significant change at the bottom of the posts. My name. Instead of reading Jen, it reads Catherine. As the weeks and months wear on, you may see it change from Catherine to Cat or Kit as I settle into it.

For those who are curious, my first and second names are Jennifer Catherine. From the time I was about ten years old, I’ve gone by Jen. Before then, I went by Jenny. But that changed when I was teased by a family member who mockingly told me that the term jenny refers to a female donkey. It was said in a way that inferred he was calling me a donkey; he was calling me an ass. From that day on, Jen was my preferred name. I refused to be called Jenny. I have only allowed two people in my life to call me it, though I have very occasionally used it to refer to myself when performing a song that involves the name of the singer. (Think, New Orleans Is Sinking by The Tragically Hip: “She said Gordie, baby, I know exactly what you mean.”) I only ever did this so it would match the rhythm of the lyric. I gave myself permission to do that. During high school, when my friends would hear my full first name, they’d look at me and say something along the lines of, “You’re not a Jennifer; you’re a Jen.” And, to tell you the truth, I felt the same way about my full given name. 

I have a bit of a ‘hold at arms-length’ type of relationship with my given name, and I won’t lie to you – it’s a bit awkward. I love the meaning of my name, but not the name, as a whole, itself. The name Jennifer is the Cornish form of a Norman French form of a Welsh name. (If you’ve managed to follow that, you’re doing well.) It is the Cornish form of the Norman French Guinevere (yes, the Guinevere of Arthurian legend), which itself, is from the Welsh name Gwenhwfar, which means “white phantom”. Further etymology breaks it down to Celtic roots *windos, “white” and *sēbros, “phantom, magical being”. (The asterisks in the Celtic roots mean that these root words are the best guess as to how they’re spelt. The Celtic language, like many ancient languages, was never actually written down, so linguists take their best guess as to what these words would look like were they written down in Latin letters.)

I love what my first name means; I love the whimsy and supernatural, almost Fae connection of the name. However, I’ve always liked my middle name, Catherine, just a little bit more. When I was about five or six, I wanted to go by Catherine, but I didn’t have the agency or support to fully implement it. The adults in my life had all the agency, and six year old me hadn’t yet learned how to stand up for myself. Thus, I continued to go by my first name. I accepted being called it. But, now that I’ve been an adult for 20 years, I have the confidence to ask to be called what I want to be called.

Oh, and for the sake of continuity, I’ll give you the possible origins and meanings of Catherine. Yes, you read that right. Possible origins and meanings. Catherine is the French form and common English variant of Katherine. Katherine is the English form of the Greek name Aikaterine. Now, here’s where the etymology gets a little muddy. Aikaterine may come from the earlier Greek name, Hekaterine, which is itself derived from hekateros, “each of the two.” It could also be related to the Greek word aikia, meaning “torture”, or be from a Coptic name meaning “my consecration of your name”. The final possibility, and arguably, my favourite, is that it could derive from the name of the goddess Hecate (Hekate), Greek goddess of witchcraft, crossroads, tombs, demons, and the underworld. The name Hecate is possibly derived from Greek hekas, meaning “far off”. In the early Christian era, the name Katherine became associated with the Greek word katharos, meaning “pure”, and the Latin spelling changed from Katerina to Katharina to reflect it.

The host of possible etymological origins of Catherine is really intriguing, and, for me, adds depth to the name. Some of those meanings also make sense to me. Catherine is also the first name of my paternal grandmother and great-grandmother. My grandmother went by Stella, the shortened form of her middle name, Estella. While I was emotionally closer to my maternal grandmother, I’ve been emotionally closer to the name that came from my paternal one since I was a child.

So, why the change now? Well, like I stated earlier, I’ve been a legal adult for twenty years, and going by my middle name is something I’ve wrestled with doing for a lot longer. Initially, I was going to make the change on my birthday back in April, but the change ended up happening a bit sooner than that. It happened at the end of March. I brought up the thought of the name change at work to see how much of a hassle it would or would not be to change my preferred name. It was, apparently, easier than I thought it would be. Then, in talking with supervisors, they suggested implementing it sooner rather than later, so the new staff starting this summer could begin their employment calling me by what I wanted to be called. Thus, I started going by Catherine a few weeks sooner than I had initially planned.

So far, things are going well for it. Colleagues that have known me for 6 years have made the adjustment, albeit with the odd slip up, but that’s to be expected. I expect mistakes, and appreciate effort. Friends that I’ve known for far longer than my colleagues have also been making the adjustment well. The owner of the karaoke show company I work with (who I’ve known for 18 years) even did a complete rebrand of my show under his banner, and I am incredibly grateful to him for it. Many of my family members – at least those within my familial generation and younger – have embraced it, and have even corrected those members who have called me – mistakenly or purposely – by my first name. Those in my social circles have embraced it. When I’ve told them that I am now going by Catherine, some have responded with, “It’s nice to meet you, Catherine.” It is a light-hearted thing on their part, and may be their way of introducing themselves to calling me by a different name than what they’re used to. But those simple words have helped me settle into the identity in a way that is hard to explain. It lets me know they have accepted it and are welcoming the new name even though it’s attached to someone they’ve known for a while. There are a few people, mostly close family, who haven’t accepted the name change, but I’m hoping they will eventually embrace it as well.

This change is 30+ years in the making, and it feels good. To be honest, I feel like it’s one of the things that’s helped me feel better than I have in a long time. Names are our identities. They are often given to us by other people; our parents give us our legal names, and friends and siblings give us nicknames. However, names are things we can change. I have friends who have legally changed their names from what they were given to what they want to be called. I have one friend I’ve known since I was 10, and I remember every one of her name transitions before she settled on the one that best suited her. I have friends whose deadnames I no longer remember. We are allowed to change and adapt to life as we go through it. Sometimes, those changes include what we want to be called, how we wish to be addressed. It’s important to embrace that within us, and within others. Identity is important; it’s who we are at our surface and at our core. Changing it is how we can come into our own, and in many ways, I feel like I am finally doing that. And it feels damn good.

What also feels good is spending time on this blog. I know it’s been a couple of months since I last posted, and I apologize. My work-life balance has been leaning more toward work than it has to life and I haven’t been able to spend as much time writing as I would like to without sacrificing more sleep than working two jobs already does. That said, I am hoping to find, or make, more time to write more often, and have these posts published in quicker succession. Hopefully the next post won’t take as long as this one did.

And until that next post: Stay safe, stay well, and keep on keeping on.

Catherine