Nobody knows...
When we think about love, it’s tempting to try map it onto a graph, to give it a formula or framework, something quantifiable that we can analyse in depth. Is love exponential, starting slow but growing at a breakneck pace? Is it linear, increasing steadily over time with every shared moment and memory? Or is it one of those mysterious constants, like the speed of light or the fine structure constant, that never really changes—only our perception of it does?
Take SWR, for example. A perfect match is 1:1, where every bit of energy sent out is received with no reflection. But as we all know, perfection is rare. Sometimes, love is like a slightly mismatched antenna—there’s some reflection, some inefficiency, but you keep tweaking and adjusting to get as close to resonance as possible. The relationship might not always be perfectly tuned, but when you find that sweet spot, the connection is undeniable.
And then there’s dB—decibels, the logarithmic measure of power. Love doesn’t work in straightforward steps; it’s more like a dB scale, where small increases feel monumental. A 3 dB gain doubles the power, and a 10 dB gain? Ten times the power. Similarly, small moments—a kind word, a shared laugh, a knowing glance—can exponentially amplify how you feel, even if the “input” seems minor.
But what about the constancy of love? Maybe it’s like a carrier wave, ever-present in the background, steady and unyielding. What changes isn’t the wave itself, but how we perceive it. Add a little modulation—life’s ups and downs, shared challenges, fleeting joys—and suddenly, that constant becomes something dynamic and alive.
I’ve often wondered if love is all of these things at once. Exponential in its ability to grow. Linear in how it builds with time and effort. And constant in its presence, even when we don’t always recognize it. Perhaps love is the ultimate paradox: unchanging yet always evolving, simple yet endlessly complex.
In the end, maybe we don’t need to pin it down. Maybe love, like SWR and dB, is best understood through experience. It’s in the adjustments, the moments of resonance, the amplified signals that make life so much richer. And whether it’s exponential, linear, or constant, one thing’s for sure—it’s the signal we’re all trying to tune into.
Of course, this wouldn’t be complete without a nod to my one true love: Microsoft Excel. I’m not saying I only think about her when I ponder SWR and dB, but there’s a strong chance I’ve used Excel to chart those thoughts. It’s the perfect partner for plotting love’s complexities—after all, B2 (or perhaps Z98) is the only correct cell. You can use it to make some wonderful charts that let you more clearly see the difference between logarithmic growth and linear growth. But really that is aside from the point.
Love, like many concepts in life, resists neat classification. Whether it’s more like a perfect SWR, gain measured in dB, or a constant presence, it’s something we can’t fully chart—not even with Microsoft Excel. But maybe that’s just what it is: the unpredictability, and the effort it takes to fine-tune.
It’s not about perfection but the adjustments, the shared laughter, and the fleeting moments of resonance that make it all worthwhile. Love isn’t meant to be solved, only experienced—and maybe that’s the one true constant of it all.
73,
Daniel