Dear California,

I spent Saturday afternoon driving to Ikea and watching Seinfeld with a boy that is somewhere in between being just my ex boyfriend and the love of my life. Such dramatic language for a Monday evening, I know. But when the mundane (buying household effects and watching re-runs of 90s television) becomes more appetizing than a trek around the world, there's something special there.

I'm struggling today to not ruin those few hours of domestic heaven with worry over "forever." He told me once "I don't love you. I don't see us lasting in the long term." (And yet here we are.) Sometimes, I feel like I am waiting for the other shoe to drop -- for him to leave like he said he wanted to do months ago. How I get by is remembering that today was happy, tomorrow could be too. These are gifts to be savored in the moment, rather than ruined by the lack of promise that it will last forever.

Pride is also quite the nemesis. Every now and then, I'd like to be one of those girls that's pined after and pursued. I want him to yield first and not feel like the ex girlfriend that maybe "just can't take a hint." Past a certain point, though, dwelling on things like this are more about power than about love.

Yeah. Love makes me an idiot, and I am somehow okay with that.

Lastly, from my ritual morning newspaper reading:

What is love, anyway?

Ah, best for last. If I were Spock from “Star Trek,” I would explain that human love is a combination of three emotions or impulses: desire, vulnerability and bravery. Desire makes one feel vulnerable, which then requires one to be brave.

Since I’m not Spock, I will tell a story.

Say you decide to adopt a baby girl in China. You receive her photo, put it on your refrigerator and gaze at it as the months pass, until finally you’re halfway around the world, holding her in your arms, tears of joy streaming down your face.

But later in your hotel room, after undressing her, you discover worrisome physical signs, in particular a scar on her spine. You call the doctor, then head to the hospital for examinations and CT scans, where you are told the following: she suffered botched spinal surgery that caused nerve damage. Soon she will lose all bladder and bowel control. Oh, and she will be paralyzed for life. We’re so sorry.

But the adoption agency offers you a choice: keep this damaged baby, or trade her in for a healthier one.

You don’t even know about the trials yet to come, about the alarming diagnoses she’ll receive back home, the terrifying seizures you’ll witness. Nor do you know about the happy ending that is years off, when she comes through it all and is perfectly fine. You have to decide now. This is your test. What do you do?

If you’re Elizabeth Fitzsimons, who told this story here one Mother’s Day, you say: “We don’t want another baby. We want our baby, the one sleeping right over there. She’s our daughter.”

That’s love. Anyone can have it. All it requires is a little bravery. Or a lot.