There’s not a subject I ponder more than relationships. Not just between men and women – though that’s been my area of obsession since I first read “Betsy and the Boys” at age 6 or so -- but all relationships.

I think about the confused dynamic between parents and children, the discomfort between adult children and their aging parents, of the various levels of friendships, both old and new, and the interesting, temporary bonds that can form standing in a long line for concert tickets or car registrations.

Strangers on a train, online friends without names or faces, the barista who knows how you take your coffee. Relationships, of varying sorts, make up the essence of our lives, and in some ways validate our existence in a world that moves so fast, it’s impossible to make a mark, or even be noticed for longer than it takes to say “green tea, nothing in it.”

Despite the many relationships I encounter, and sometimes nourish, through my day, it’s the male-female dynamic that always takes up the most space in my head. But then, that makes sense. Coupling – and it could be male-male, or female-female – is what we ultimately do. People couple up. Even after divorce, coupling follows. Even for the (human) stray cats – they couple up, perhaps in a noncommittal way – but there’s a coupling, a series of non-relationships. We couple, even if just for a night, a weekend, or a month or two.

We long to connect with another, have a need to be touched, held, caressed … to be loved on some level beyond that of parent, child, friend or stranger. It’s the reason online dating sites reel in new members and turn profits, and why the freebee site plentyoffish.com makes a boat-load of bucks from Adsense alone.

Relationships of the coupling kind are a paradox more complex than Curry’s (which is confusing. Best to just leave it at that: confusing. Curry makes my head spin in circles not unlike Kingda Ka or El Torro at NJ Six Flags). But the paradox that exists within the coupling relationship is one we desire, whether or not we’re the Kingda Ka type of person, the backyard BBQ type or the loner of any sort, cerebral or otherwise.

A seemingly perfect relationship is one that’s sure to bring on some obsessive pondering when things don’t seem quite right. My recent spat of interrupted sleep was days before my own coupling disagreement left me thinking “what the fuck.”

That fall out left me with two thoughts: How much can you really know a person, and, more important, Just get to the part where you tell me you love me.

He’s said the latter to me during insecure moments, and perhaps he’s pondered the former, who knows? That’s the consequence of living life upside-down, out of order; loving first, knowing, second.

To love and be loved, need and be needed. It’s human, it’s life, it’s wrought with insecurities.

If I’ve figured out anything, it’s love in its purest form should never be over-pondered, taken for granted or left to its own devices. Love -- like parents, children, and lemon chicken simmering on low -- should be looked after, and nurtured, paid attention to.

My whole life’s been lived upside-down; I don’t recommend it. But I’ve learned from this unique perspective of doing things out of order, that despite my failed marriage, there’s no one else I would’ve had children with.

I’ve also learned -- though there’s much more to be discovered -- I’m likely with the person now who I will grow old with. It’s rather startling really, and totally frightening. Of course I will ponder and think “wtf.”

But then, to love and be loved, need and be needed? Is there anything more frightening?

(Is there anything more comforting?)