Cynic turned Realist: Love.

In Junior High I was obsessed with understanding what love really was. I’m not exactly sure what I was hoping to find, but I remember writing, reading, and thinking for 2 years and giving up a hopeless mess. I took the cynical route claiming that love was merely a choice - nothing more, nothing less. In hindsight, it was a little bit of a burden for a 13 year old.

Ten years later, I think I am finally starting to get the real picture.

Now I can see where I wanted to go with the idea of choice – I wanted it to be consistent and it seemed that if it was a feeling-based state of mind, it would be up, down, here, there, and gone before you know it. I knew that wasn’t right, but I didn’t have much else to go on. I sing a different tune these days.

Love is. It is. It takes care of, it takes interest in. It’s selfless, and remains without conditions. It sifts the unimportant and hurtful from meaning and poignancy. Love speaks, it touches. Love forgives and communicates. Love is quiet and it’s deep. It’s open and transparent. It’s grounded. It’s real.

I don’t know for sure if I thought in Jr. High that I’d find love to mimic a fairytale with a prince and princess, there were ounces of such thought, of that I am sure.

Now, I am coming to find that the beauty of the real thing is its lack of fairytale-ness in every sense of the word. Expectations are easier to meet and we are allowed to remain ourselves. Lord knows I’d make a terrible princess.

There was no amount of reading and thinking I could have done at age 11 that could have brought any sort of clarity. I needed to be taught, and more than taught, I needed to be shown.

It’s pretty wild what being loved can do to you. It’s challenging, humbling, calming, wonderful, and is worth all of the effort necessary.

To love perfectly, well, that’s a whole other story, and one I’m sure I will never be able to write. I should probably finish the one I started to write 10 years ago.

I think the 13-year-old me wouldn’t have a problem with the ‘me’ today and my take on that whole ‘love’ thing. Thanks, Whitney circa 2000, for your approval.

Lacking and Learning

When do we finally stop playing the victim and actually bring about change? I’ve struggled with this question for far too long it seems. Often, issues arrive and I find myself feeling down and depressed, claiming that I didn’t grow up in an environment that fostered the sharing of feelings or healthy problem solving techniques. I’ve felt lost in numerous situations when trying to figure out how to approach such things, even after studying them in college. There is just something about having a tangible example that seems to make all the difference.

Here I sit, without the wisdom that such experiences bring.

On my drive home tonight I couldn’t help but think that it is all just merely an excuse. My upbringing no longer dictates my life and who I will become, and yet, I allow it that very kind of control by playing it’s victim. I am the adult now, silly me resigning myself to what is expected. I can’t remember ever being OK with that kind of life – one that resigns it’s self to its expected detriment. That has never been me, and I won’t let it become that way.

Truth be told, I’m great at telling people that they are adults, and should no longer allow their parents mistakes and mishaps shape and define their person. Look who’s talking now.
Daily, I’m reminded of my shortcomings and areas in which I must grow to even begin to deserve the love that I’ve found.

If I know one thing right now, I know that I’m done making those same excuses.

Yes, that feels good.