The adolescent version of loving something is reactionary.
The feeling is a fog that takes over, whether you want it to or not. It’s a calling, a mission, a force of nature, destiny.
That kind of love is fun, full of passion and pain, ups and downs, and is bounded by a safety net. The net is the feeling that fate, not you, is in charge. You can lean on that and abdicate some self-searching and decision making.
But that is an unsustainable kind of love. Like a drug, its effects loosen over time requiring higher dosages to the point of loss of function. It must grow up.
Grown up love isn’t fate but choice.
It’s you, not the universe, as the motive power. You must stand and make decisions rather than wait for the wind at your back. You have to awaken to the full force of your freedom. This is good – better, deeper, and truer than young love – but it’s not easy. The transition involves a kind of mourning for lost innocence and simplicity.
Grown up love doesn’t happen to you. It’s a choice to master it. It requires work and growth. Its passions must be dispassionately engaged. That is what makes it so strong.
As long as love by choice does not result in love without risk, it is right and proper. The only real danger of moving from destiny to choice is the possibility that you make weaker choices when you feel free to do so than when you felt you were being pulled.
And that, of course, is a choice you have to make.
Be rational, but stay foolish.