Saying I love you is something that’s always come naturally to me. I have my heart lavishly, proudly stitched to my sleeve. Sure, it’s got a little tattered over the years, definitely a few loose threads, but that doesn’t stop me. Some time ago I learnt just how wonderful it felt to openly share how I was feeling, even if it’s not always reciprocated.
Bring on far too much, way too soon.
My instagram feed is a flood with gushy birthday odes of love, my gift cards scrawled upon both sides – full of mushy adorations, and just a few vinos in I begin my love filled declarations;
Oh my gawwwwd! You’re saaaah pretty.
The only issue with saying I love you like it ain’t no thang – it kind of loses its impact. It stops being like phoarrr take your breath away, and starts to roll easily of your tongue, like when you say Mum to a teacher. I’ve said I love you when hanging up the phone to our IT department, to a sales clerk in Coles, to a bearded bar tender – well I might’ve meant that one.
Ollie and I say it now, almost out of habit, like a generic greeting. And don’t get me wrong – it’s still like my favourite thing to hear but recently I’ve found a few other expressions to be slightly more impactful.
A couple of weeks ago, I had a big girl moment. I delivered my first lecture on Photoshop, yeah just call me Miss Cormack. A room full of twentysomethings sat nested amongst iMacs, keenly following my every move projected on the big screen. In true geek form, I gushed about the tools, about the power of the Magic Wand. I deleted a man from a photo in one swift move, then awkwardly made some joke about how I did this to all pictures of my ex-boyfriends. They laughed. Phew.
In the days prior, I was really anxious, and of course projected stress, nerves and lesson plans onto an obliging Ollie. But I did it. I got home, buzzing, and told him how well the class went, he responded; “I’m proud of you”. It sounds simple, but it really hit me. I don’t think you hear that enough as an adult. It gets hard to keep friends and family in the loop, to articulate what you’re doing, why it’s important to you, and why they should be popping the freakin' champagne. And I think at times, these things just go unsaid, because people assume you know they’re impressed or proud. Which is a shame because a pat on the back feels so fucking good.
Another statement I found surprisingly striking came from a slightly unexpected source; my nephew Dom. Like most kids, amidst the puerile poop jokes and knock knock gags – come moments of uninhibited, unadulterated honesty. Pure and true. We were sprawled out on the trampoline, rosy cheeked, staring at the sky. Trying to catch our breath after a long stint of uninterrupted jumping. Dommy wrapped his arms around me, squeezed me tight, and said “You’re my sparkly Aunty Ray”.
Sparkly, I was so taken by that adjective. What did he mean? Was I happy? Bright? Effervescent? Was he talking about the beads of sweat catching light on my skin? My earrings? I’ll never know, but I liked being sparkly. I also liked that I belonged to him, his Aunty Ray – no question.
The final; a simple gesture from my sister Bindi which left me deeply moved. She sent me an article with the word effusive in it, and explained she felt it was the first adjective she’d found that perfectly described me. That’s how she sees me, and that’s exactly how I’d like to be seen.
I guess what makes these things special is the specificity. You feel touched that these people know you, have thought about you, and are willing to share a thought or feeling that is particular to you. Ollie will attest to this, I want more than I love you. When he says that, I say tell me whyyyyy and make him rattle off reasons. Each one is surprising, warming. I want to give that feeling to other people, I want them to know exactly why I love them. To get real specific. Hell, if nothing else it’s an opportunity to showcase fancy adjectives.