I read this passage this morning, and it reminded me of this old bicycle I used to have, that I didn't realize I loved until after it was stolen: -- Kim Stanley Robinson, "Aurora"Love is a kind of giving of attention. The one that is feeling the love has the universe organized for it as if by a kind of polarization. The giving is the getting. The feeling of attentiveness is its own reward. We had a labor of love. It absorbed our attention entirely. It gave a meaning to our existence. And this is a very great gift; this meaning is in the end what love gives. Because there is no obvious meaning to be found in the universe, as far as we can tell. But a consciousness that cannot discern a meaning in existence is in trouble, very deep trouble, for at that point there is no organizing principle, no end to the infinite search, no reason to live. No: meaning is the hard problem, and we solve it by giving and getting attention, and then it's all very interesting. It is a joy to serve.
I think my oldest memory might actually be my father explaining to three-year-old me that someone had stolen my tricycle. We were pretty damn poor then and I don't think it ever crossed my mind that I could someday get a replacement. Jesus.