Love in the Time of Ambivalence

I was in London a few weeks ago for a friend’s wedding and spent half a day wandering the Tate Modern, where the art can be as off-putting as it can be enthralling. Mire Lee’s Open Wound imagines Turbine Hall as an “industrial womb” which “invites us to revel in contradictory emotions: from awe and disgust to compassion, fear and love.” Indeed, I felt both, as though someone’s insides had been splattered across the space and I needed to help stitch them back together.

Then I happened upon an retrospective of Helen Chadwick’s work, from contorted self-portraits and photos of stylized animal organs to the inverted casted impressions rendered by urinating in a block of snow, aptly titled Piss Flowers.

One of her untitled pieces was a simple line drawing of the word adore mirrored by the word abhor. I had to laugh because only a few days before, the man I am dating wanted to clarify that “normal marital hatred” is a common psychological state, not that we were discussing marriage, or feeling hateful, but I think he wanted to reassure me that it was ok for us to loathe each other on occasion.

As a woman who has just passed her 59th orbit around the sun, I’ve been thinking often about how ambivalent I am about so many things; where I live, whether I want a committed relationship, if I’m capable of practicing both writing and medicine well. Is all this vacillation a failing on my part? Why can’t I be certain of anything? I’m fairly sure I would take a bullet for my son, but that’s about it.

Then I listened to the episode “The Benefit of Mixed Emotions” on the podcast Hidden Brain. The downside of prevarication is that you get pegged as a flake, one of my least favorite qualities in a person. Politicians are skewered for “flip flopping” as though revising one’s opinion on a topic was a sign of weakness, even in light of updated information.

The upside of feeling compelled by both sides of an issue is that, according to research, a lack of certainty demonstrates a depth of curiosity and intelligence. Ambivalence suggests that we are open to accepting or tolerating both the good and bad, willing to allow for differences of opinion and question whether our own is right. As Mire Lee knows, discomfort is an opportunity to transform disgust and fear into love and compassion if we take the time to explore our revulsions.

I’m heading into the holiday season feeling the discomfort of mixed emotions, “normal hatred” towards people I’m close to who didn’t vote the way I did or value the same issues that are dear to me. I’ve been admonished by my girlfriends to demonstrate empathy for people who are angry, struggling, and allowed to vote anyway. But I wanted to hate. For a few days at least. It felt good and no one got hurt.

Now I’m back to feeling rather upbeat about what lies ahead. I don’t feel bad that I let myself be a grumpy bitch for a few days, and I’m no longer anxious that I haven’t yet “figured myself out” or this country for that matter. I never will. And that makes life and loving interesting. I hope your gatherings aren’t clouded by animosity but filled with curiosity and laughter.

Researcher: Excuse me, I’m conducting a survey on sexuality. When was the last time you had sex?

Pilot: 1958.

Researcher: Oh my! That’s a long time.

Pilot (looking at their watch): Not really. It’s only 20:17.

Love, Karin

Note: Recently My piece, “Risk Assessments” was published on

The Audacity.

by Roxane Gay. The essay is part of a larger project about the overlap between mothering a boy and being a lover to men. I hope you’ll take a look. This has been a great honor, and I’m pleased to see new faces here on Savvy Love because of it. Thank you for reading!