Merry Christmas.
I wish I could say I feel merry and that I am anxious for Christmas, but that would be an outright lie.
The holidays -- and all other significant days (hey, aren't they all significant?) -- seem to lose all luster and all meaning when the one you love is gone from your life. Instead, holidays become just another day one must endure on his or her way to the final day, the final hour, the final minute. There is no good reason to give Christmas or any other day any special weight or significance because it just is another 24 hours to fill with useless and meaningless activity meant only to eat up what little time you have left on this earth.
After all, Christmas is just an arbitrary day, a date chosen long ago to be the one day to celebrate the birth of the Savior. But really, shouldn't we celebrate His birth, His sacrifice, His example, His life every day? It seems rather silly of us to act as if Christmas is the only day to really celebrate the greatest sacrifice ever made.
But while the rest of the planet finds extra joy and additional happiness on Dec. 25, for some of us it is just another day to endure, to survive, to get through. We may do that in the company of family or friends or we may do that alone, with only our thoughts and sorrow for company. We simply can't find that extra joy or even regular happiness in a world devoid of the one we love. Oh, we may force a smile, pretend to be merry, even drink a little more than we should in the hope the alcohol will numb the numbness or that it will melt the iceberg that has taken up residence in our hearts. But nothing works, nothing can fill that which only can be filled by the presence of one person, the one we love with all of our hearts. Everything else is simply the square peg in the round hole. A nice idea, but it simply does not work.
In fact, these holidays sometimes are harder than any other day because that person is absent. We can handle their absence better on those days when everyone else is going through their daily motions and living out their equally meager existences. It is worse, however, on a day when the rest of the world seems to be filled with joy, with happiness and is surrounded by all the people they love, most especially the one they love the best. And we have to watch them and see, in them, what once was but now is not; to be reminded again of who and what is missing from our lives and how empty and meaningless those lives are without the love we had with them.
So, please, have a Merry Christmas. Just remember that for some, it is neither merry nor worth celebrating.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
GRIEVING THE LOSS
The death of a relationship is a lot like a death. You grieve it, miss it, long for it, cry about it, get angry over it's loss, come to grips with it and finally come to accept it, even though the loss and the ache will never go away.
There are some differences, however. For one, most people won't even know you had a relationship, let alone that is it over, so many will not understand why you are edgy, cranky, aloof and generally not yourself. Secondly, some people will not accept that men can or will grieve the loss of a relationship since this is territory most often reserved for women.
Men, we are told by movies, television, books, etc., from a young age, just love 'em and leave 'em and move on to the next one without a moment's remorse. I guess I didn't drink that Kool Aid because I have never done any of those things. All my life has been a search for that one true love, that singular relationship, that soulmate, that collaborator, that muse, that best friend, that one person for whom I was created. I have far too much respect for women to treat them as one-night stands or to lead anyone on, at least not on purpose. I'll admit, in my naive youth, I missed a lot of signals and hurt the feelings of a young woman or two, but never with any ill intent. And I felt badly that I hurt them unintentionally.
The other exception to the normal rules of grieving is that the other person in this lost relationship still lives. She's still out there, breathing, living and going on with her life too, albeit maybe with less loss and less anguish than what you are suffering since, afterall, we are assuming she ended it and not you.
That creates some issues for those grieving. Do you live on in the hope one day she will realize what she lost and return to you? Do you live out the rest of your life as if trying to prove to her what a prize she missed out on? Do you try to reconnect with her, or do you just let her go? Do you stay near her in the hope she might see you again or do you move as far away as possible so that you never are reminded of that pain and loss?
And what, if you stay, do you do if chance brings you back together again, say, in a public place? Do you act as if you don't care, even when it is eating you alive inside? Or do you let her see how hurt, how lost, how empty your life is without her?
And does any of that really matter at all?
Because, after all, she ended this. Don't you think she probably did so because she wanted it over, that she really doesn't want a relationship with you? Don't you think all she wants is for you to go away, to disappear into the background of her life forever and ever? Don't you think that last thing she wants is to run into you?
This assumes, of course, that this woman actually did care for you at one time and may still want to remain friends with you. All bets are off if she, however, is one of those people who draws pleasure from torturing former lovers and cats, not necessarily in that order. Then you are risking more than just your heart and self-esteem when you tangle again with her.
If, however, she really did care at one time, she clearly does not feel that way anymore or the two of you would still be together. So you had best just get on with the grieving. Once the tears have dried and the acceptance begins to sink in, pick your heart up, put it back on your sleeve and step back out into the world.
Look again for love. It is out there, somewhere, waiting for you, looking for you. If it happens that the love looking for you is her, then time will bring her back to you. If not, then search on and never give up until love finds you.
All the same, realize it gets harder and harder to step back out there, to risk it all for love, with each loss, with each rejection. But it is worth the risk, even if you never do get to win.
There are some differences, however. For one, most people won't even know you had a relationship, let alone that is it over, so many will not understand why you are edgy, cranky, aloof and generally not yourself. Secondly, some people will not accept that men can or will grieve the loss of a relationship since this is territory most often reserved for women.
Men, we are told by movies, television, books, etc., from a young age, just love 'em and leave 'em and move on to the next one without a moment's remorse. I guess I didn't drink that Kool Aid because I have never done any of those things. All my life has been a search for that one true love, that singular relationship, that soulmate, that collaborator, that muse, that best friend, that one person for whom I was created. I have far too much respect for women to treat them as one-night stands or to lead anyone on, at least not on purpose. I'll admit, in my naive youth, I missed a lot of signals and hurt the feelings of a young woman or two, but never with any ill intent. And I felt badly that I hurt them unintentionally.
The other exception to the normal rules of grieving is that the other person in this lost relationship still lives. She's still out there, breathing, living and going on with her life too, albeit maybe with less loss and less anguish than what you are suffering since, afterall, we are assuming she ended it and not you.
That creates some issues for those grieving. Do you live on in the hope one day she will realize what she lost and return to you? Do you live out the rest of your life as if trying to prove to her what a prize she missed out on? Do you try to reconnect with her, or do you just let her go? Do you stay near her in the hope she might see you again or do you move as far away as possible so that you never are reminded of that pain and loss?
And what, if you stay, do you do if chance brings you back together again, say, in a public place? Do you act as if you don't care, even when it is eating you alive inside? Or do you let her see how hurt, how lost, how empty your life is without her?
And does any of that really matter at all?
Because, after all, she ended this. Don't you think she probably did so because she wanted it over, that she really doesn't want a relationship with you? Don't you think all she wants is for you to go away, to disappear into the background of her life forever and ever? Don't you think that last thing she wants is to run into you?
This assumes, of course, that this woman actually did care for you at one time and may still want to remain friends with you. All bets are off if she, however, is one of those people who draws pleasure from torturing former lovers and cats, not necessarily in that order. Then you are risking more than just your heart and self-esteem when you tangle again with her.
If, however, she really did care at one time, she clearly does not feel that way anymore or the two of you would still be together. So you had best just get on with the grieving. Once the tears have dried and the acceptance begins to sink in, pick your heart up, put it back on your sleeve and step back out into the world.
Look again for love. It is out there, somewhere, waiting for you, looking for you. If it happens that the love looking for you is her, then time will bring her back to you. If not, then search on and never give up until love finds you.
All the same, realize it gets harder and harder to step back out there, to risk it all for love, with each loss, with each rejection. But it is worth the risk, even if you never do get to win.
Monday, December 5, 2011
CONVENTION VS. UNCONVENTIONAL
I've always flirted with the unconventional, while still being a bit conventional.
I know that sounds contradictory, but then, again, I am an avowed contrarian.
Still, let me explain. Throughout my life, there has always been a part of me that swerves well outside the mainstream, into the odd and unusual. So while much of my life is quite conventional, there is that part that defies convention and prefers something different.
Growing up, for instance, I was a huge football fan. I devoured everything I could read on the subject. Then I saw my first Canadian Football League game and was hooked. Here was something unconventional, unusual and it fit me just fine. I read about it, studied the game and the players and even subscribed to magazines and newspapers devoted to the game.
I lost interest in that once I reached college, so music took its place. I listened to what was popular, but then I joined the staff of the college radio station. The station, at one point, was ditching piles of records of unknown and unheralded artists. I took many home, found music I loved, and listened to these people often. Of course, no one else had heard of them or cared, so the music was my effort at being unconventional. I still enjoy finding the new and unusual in music and prefer it over what is popular.
When I was younger, and had just learned to drive, I fell for un-American car racing -- LeMans, Formula 1, Can-Am, rallying -- anything that wasn't limited to left-hand turns for lap upon lap. No one I knew shared this passion and while it waned for several decades, it returned when cable television started airing the Speed channel, back when European rallying and Formula 1 were among its regular programs and which still shows the 24 hours of LeMans from start to finish.
I was into distance running before it got big and stayed with it until health issues forced me to stop. I still remain a fan who can watch a marathon or track meet on television without a moment's remorse or guilt. Then I got into cycling, another European sport for which I have a deep and abiding passion. If I talk to people about it, they get this puzzled look on their faces since, after all, they stopped riding a bicycle in their teens and can see no reason to return to human-powered travel, except possibly if they are camping. And then only if they have to. To admit that, on Saturday, I logged nearly 30 miles in the rain and cold, simply draws looks of disbelief and an effort to get away from the crazy man.
I read whatever books and magazines interest me, which also draws me into the unconventional. For I am an incurable romantic, who still believes in the power and beauty of real love and is convinced that, in time, it will return for me, regardless of how long that may take.
While this may paint a picture of someone hiding an unconventional streak, I believe I am not alone in this. Though I have yet to meet another, I believe there are others out there who find their passions in areas the rest of their small world does not recognize or respect. Like me, they, too, long to find someone with which to share at least some of these passions, while recognizing that no person will, or should, match them passion-for-passion. Instead, we recognize and appreciate the differences in people and know our passions may ignite interest in another just as their passions may well inspire us to look further at something we previously had not considered.
Life does not have to be an all-or-none proposition. You can be conventional in part of your life, unconventional in the rest. You truly can be of two minds, one that enjoys what everyone else does and the other which strives to find that which no one else around you has ever experienced before.
Don't bow to convention. And don't limit yourself to an unconventional life. Be both. For as much and as often as you like.
I know that sounds contradictory, but then, again, I am an avowed contrarian.
Still, let me explain. Throughout my life, there has always been a part of me that swerves well outside the mainstream, into the odd and unusual. So while much of my life is quite conventional, there is that part that defies convention and prefers something different.
Growing up, for instance, I was a huge football fan. I devoured everything I could read on the subject. Then I saw my first Canadian Football League game and was hooked. Here was something unconventional, unusual and it fit me just fine. I read about it, studied the game and the players and even subscribed to magazines and newspapers devoted to the game.
I lost interest in that once I reached college, so music took its place. I listened to what was popular, but then I joined the staff of the college radio station. The station, at one point, was ditching piles of records of unknown and unheralded artists. I took many home, found music I loved, and listened to these people often. Of course, no one else had heard of them or cared, so the music was my effort at being unconventional. I still enjoy finding the new and unusual in music and prefer it over what is popular.
When I was younger, and had just learned to drive, I fell for un-American car racing -- LeMans, Formula 1, Can-Am, rallying -- anything that wasn't limited to left-hand turns for lap upon lap. No one I knew shared this passion and while it waned for several decades, it returned when cable television started airing the Speed channel, back when European rallying and Formula 1 were among its regular programs and which still shows the 24 hours of LeMans from start to finish.
I was into distance running before it got big and stayed with it until health issues forced me to stop. I still remain a fan who can watch a marathon or track meet on television without a moment's remorse or guilt. Then I got into cycling, another European sport for which I have a deep and abiding passion. If I talk to people about it, they get this puzzled look on their faces since, after all, they stopped riding a bicycle in their teens and can see no reason to return to human-powered travel, except possibly if they are camping. And then only if they have to. To admit that, on Saturday, I logged nearly 30 miles in the rain and cold, simply draws looks of disbelief and an effort to get away from the crazy man.
I read whatever books and magazines interest me, which also draws me into the unconventional. For I am an incurable romantic, who still believes in the power and beauty of real love and is convinced that, in time, it will return for me, regardless of how long that may take.
While this may paint a picture of someone hiding an unconventional streak, I believe I am not alone in this. Though I have yet to meet another, I believe there are others out there who find their passions in areas the rest of their small world does not recognize or respect. Like me, they, too, long to find someone with which to share at least some of these passions, while recognizing that no person will, or should, match them passion-for-passion. Instead, we recognize and appreciate the differences in people and know our passions may ignite interest in another just as their passions may well inspire us to look further at something we previously had not considered.
Life does not have to be an all-or-none proposition. You can be conventional in part of your life, unconventional in the rest. You truly can be of two minds, one that enjoys what everyone else does and the other which strives to find that which no one else around you has ever experienced before.
Don't bow to convention. And don't limit yourself to an unconventional life. Be both. For as much and as often as you like.
Monday, November 28, 2011
LOVE'S PRACTICAL LESSON
Life is nothing, if not a practical teacher.
Put your hand on a hot stove and the burn will teach you to never do that again. Take a gravelly corner too fast on your bike and the torn and bruised flesh will leave scars that teach an equally indelible lesson. Exercise too much and too hard before your body is ready and the aching, stiff joints and muscles will be a steady reminder that you made a mistake.
Open your heart to the wrong person and the hurt will teach you to never, ever do that again.
And if you think these valuable lessons are taught only to the young, think again, my friend. Age is not the same as experience, and experience is the great teacher here. You may be young and have lived through enough hurts and painful lessons to be wiser than a less experienced senior citizen. Life is not prejudiced toward the aged, saving all of its wisdom just for them. It hands out these lessons to everyone, regardless of age or sex or background. Rich or poor, educated or not, experience offers lessons that last a lifetime.
Ahh, but that is the rub, isn't it? For someone in the spring of their life, these lessons can be applied for decades. Learn these lessons in the fall of your life, however, and you have but years to reap the benefits. And suffer the aching pain.
So while love is not saved for just the young, neither are the painful benefits of loss and rejection. Love will come when its time is right, not when we expect it. That does not mean our love will be accepted or cherished by the recipient. We may be left standing, our shattered hearts no longer on our sleeves but in pieces in our hands, wondering why it hurts so much and what went to so horribly wrong. And there will be no answers, only loss and emptiness and sadness.
What lessons can be learned from such hurt? What will we take away from this experience?
Most will close off their hearts, locking them behind well-constructed defensive walls, down in cool, damp dungeons, as far from light and life as possible. They will seal their vulnerabilities with a detachment designed to keep the rest of the world, especially those who might just know the key to that dungeon door, at a distance. They will be the people we have met but never really get to know well, for they have been deeply hurt and refuse to suffer such hurt ever again.
Often such defenses are not built on the rocks of a single hurt but on the repeated breeches of our earliest battlements. With every hurt, with every succeeding loss, the injured repeats what soon becomes their mantra: "I will never let that happen again."
Rare is the person who can suffer these repeated losses and rejections and remain open to love and its amazing possibilities. These are resilient souls who have either a masochist's penchant for pain or who simply refuse to give up on the ultimate goal: Finding the love which they (and we all) seek. That they remain open to love does not mean they eventually will find it. Being open to love still means being open to being hurt and rejected. And more pain may be all they will get for being so willing and vulnerable.
But maybe they will get lucky and love will not only find them, but will stay with them for the rest of their lives, no matter how long or short that is.
The rest of us, however, have learned our lesson. And we'll never let that happen again.
Put your hand on a hot stove and the burn will teach you to never do that again. Take a gravelly corner too fast on your bike and the torn and bruised flesh will leave scars that teach an equally indelible lesson. Exercise too much and too hard before your body is ready and the aching, stiff joints and muscles will be a steady reminder that you made a mistake.
Open your heart to the wrong person and the hurt will teach you to never, ever do that again.
And if you think these valuable lessons are taught only to the young, think again, my friend. Age is not the same as experience, and experience is the great teacher here. You may be young and have lived through enough hurts and painful lessons to be wiser than a less experienced senior citizen. Life is not prejudiced toward the aged, saving all of its wisdom just for them. It hands out these lessons to everyone, regardless of age or sex or background. Rich or poor, educated or not, experience offers lessons that last a lifetime.
Ahh, but that is the rub, isn't it? For someone in the spring of their life, these lessons can be applied for decades. Learn these lessons in the fall of your life, however, and you have but years to reap the benefits. And suffer the aching pain.
So while love is not saved for just the young, neither are the painful benefits of loss and rejection. Love will come when its time is right, not when we expect it. That does not mean our love will be accepted or cherished by the recipient. We may be left standing, our shattered hearts no longer on our sleeves but in pieces in our hands, wondering why it hurts so much and what went to so horribly wrong. And there will be no answers, only loss and emptiness and sadness.
What lessons can be learned from such hurt? What will we take away from this experience?
Most will close off their hearts, locking them behind well-constructed defensive walls, down in cool, damp dungeons, as far from light and life as possible. They will seal their vulnerabilities with a detachment designed to keep the rest of the world, especially those who might just know the key to that dungeon door, at a distance. They will be the people we have met but never really get to know well, for they have been deeply hurt and refuse to suffer such hurt ever again.
Often such defenses are not built on the rocks of a single hurt but on the repeated breeches of our earliest battlements. With every hurt, with every succeeding loss, the injured repeats what soon becomes their mantra: "I will never let that happen again."
Rare is the person who can suffer these repeated losses and rejections and remain open to love and its amazing possibilities. These are resilient souls who have either a masochist's penchant for pain or who simply refuse to give up on the ultimate goal: Finding the love which they (and we all) seek. That they remain open to love does not mean they eventually will find it. Being open to love still means being open to being hurt and rejected. And more pain may be all they will get for being so willing and vulnerable.
But maybe they will get lucky and love will not only find them, but will stay with them for the rest of their lives, no matter how long or short that is.
The rest of us, however, have learned our lesson. And we'll never let that happen again.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
CARE TO MAKE PLANS?
Life has a way of ensuring we never become too complacent.
It drops a tornado on us, floods our home and world, takes away our job and career, gives us a deadly disease, steals away the ones we love, just to make sure we don't start thinking about planning too far ahead.
Of course, it takes time to teach this lesson. When we are young, we make all sorts of long-term plans, many far beyond our meager reach. But, hey, if people like Bill Gates can dream big and find their dreams come true, why not us?
But even the dreams that are not so big, especially those dreams we hold tightly to simply because they seem most within our reach, time and life have a way of dashing. You may simply want to find the love of your life, the person you were born to be with, and time and life will find a way to either significantly delay that discovery, give it to you when you least expect it and are least prepared for it and/or keep it from you until you have already committed to another.
Just to prove to you, beyond all doubt, that God truly laughs when we make plans.
Or, as Issak Dinesen said in "Out of Africa:" "When God wants to punish us, He answers our prayers."
As we age, and feel the repeated stinging loss of our dreams, we begin to realize nothing ever goes as we hoped, as we wanted, as we had planned. We are far better off just living as God's pinball, bouncing from surprise to surprise, never truly stunned anymore because we have seen far too many. Even the words, "I didn't see that coming," no longer drip from our tongue because we realize we're never going to see what's coming, ever. Instead, every moment of every day of our existence is one surprise after another until the lack of a surprise becomes the greatest surprise of all.
Hey, today was a lot like yesterday. I sure didn't see that coming.
Despite this history of dashed dreams, smashed hopes and plastered plans, we can't help but hold on to a thread of hope, a sliver of a dream, a small piece of our plans. Maybe, just maybe, God will save the biggest surprise for the last, and finally let us have the one thing we want more than anything else in life: Love.
And then again, maybe He's just waiting to rip that, too, from our grasp and break it, and our hearts, into the tiniest of little shards.
Hey, you never know what will happen.
Just don't go making any big plans.
It drops a tornado on us, floods our home and world, takes away our job and career, gives us a deadly disease, steals away the ones we love, just to make sure we don't start thinking about planning too far ahead.
Of course, it takes time to teach this lesson. When we are young, we make all sorts of long-term plans, many far beyond our meager reach. But, hey, if people like Bill Gates can dream big and find their dreams come true, why not us?
But even the dreams that are not so big, especially those dreams we hold tightly to simply because they seem most within our reach, time and life have a way of dashing. You may simply want to find the love of your life, the person you were born to be with, and time and life will find a way to either significantly delay that discovery, give it to you when you least expect it and are least prepared for it and/or keep it from you until you have already committed to another.
Just to prove to you, beyond all doubt, that God truly laughs when we make plans.
Or, as Issak Dinesen said in "Out of Africa:" "When God wants to punish us, He answers our prayers."
As we age, and feel the repeated stinging loss of our dreams, we begin to realize nothing ever goes as we hoped, as we wanted, as we had planned. We are far better off just living as God's pinball, bouncing from surprise to surprise, never truly stunned anymore because we have seen far too many. Even the words, "I didn't see that coming," no longer drip from our tongue because we realize we're never going to see what's coming, ever. Instead, every moment of every day of our existence is one surprise after another until the lack of a surprise becomes the greatest surprise of all.
Hey, today was a lot like yesterday. I sure didn't see that coming.
Despite this history of dashed dreams, smashed hopes and plastered plans, we can't help but hold on to a thread of hope, a sliver of a dream, a small piece of our plans. Maybe, just maybe, God will save the biggest surprise for the last, and finally let us have the one thing we want more than anything else in life: Love.
And then again, maybe He's just waiting to rip that, too, from our grasp and break it, and our hearts, into the tiniest of little shards.
Hey, you never know what will happen.
Just don't go making any big plans.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
THE NOBLE COURSE
In all of the movies and television shows I watched and all of the books I read, I always admired the men who, in the face of difficulty and strong emotions, always chose the right and noble course. They would not give in to the temptress, choosing instead to love the upright and good woman. They would not choose love over duty, selfishness over selflessness.
They were examples I always wanted to follow.
And I thought I did and always could.
But I'd never really had to make the truly noble sacrifice, to bow out and let the woman I love go off without me, to face the stark reality of living the remainder of my life not only without the love I'd lived and longed for all of these years but also without the hope of ever being with her again. I realized it is one thing to believe in the noble cause and to always want to choose the noble road, but it is quite another to have to make the choice to let love go, to allow the one you love choose someone else, not you.
The hardest part of that, I think, is trying to decide when it is right to fight for the one you love and when it is right to let the one you love go. When is love best shown by standing up for the one you love and when is love's high road letting that person go? On one hand, I want to fight tooth and nail for her, to prove to her that I love her in good times and bad and will battle through thick and thin to be with her, that she is worth the pain and effort. On the other hand, I want her to know that I will not make her life miserable by not understanding that, for her, this is over, even though for me it will never be over, not even when I die. The love will go on, into the next life.
So which is the right and noble path, to fight for the one you love or to let her go? Neither offers a pleasant future -- fighting, quite possibly in vain, for a love that may well be over is to be Don Quixote instead of Cyrano deBergerac; surrendering love, giving up, means facing a future without love ever again, with lingering doubts about what might have been if only I had fought for us or, worse yet, if I'd only done something different during the time we were together.
The choice always seems so clear in print, in a movie, on television. But, like so many things, life is far more complicated and complex than it is crystallized for our mass consumption. The world, even in Technicolor, is never black and white. There are those gray areas that challenge us and make us wonder which way to turn. To fight for love or surrender it forever? Which is the noble, right and true path? And which will serve her best?
I wish I knew.
They were examples I always wanted to follow.
And I thought I did and always could.
But I'd never really had to make the truly noble sacrifice, to bow out and let the woman I love go off without me, to face the stark reality of living the remainder of my life not only without the love I'd lived and longed for all of these years but also without the hope of ever being with her again. I realized it is one thing to believe in the noble cause and to always want to choose the noble road, but it is quite another to have to make the choice to let love go, to allow the one you love choose someone else, not you.
The hardest part of that, I think, is trying to decide when it is right to fight for the one you love and when it is right to let the one you love go. When is love best shown by standing up for the one you love and when is love's high road letting that person go? On one hand, I want to fight tooth and nail for her, to prove to her that I love her in good times and bad and will battle through thick and thin to be with her, that she is worth the pain and effort. On the other hand, I want her to know that I will not make her life miserable by not understanding that, for her, this is over, even though for me it will never be over, not even when I die. The love will go on, into the next life.
So which is the right and noble path, to fight for the one you love or to let her go? Neither offers a pleasant future -- fighting, quite possibly in vain, for a love that may well be over is to be Don Quixote instead of Cyrano deBergerac; surrendering love, giving up, means facing a future without love ever again, with lingering doubts about what might have been if only I had fought for us or, worse yet, if I'd only done something different during the time we were together.
The choice always seems so clear in print, in a movie, on television. But, like so many things, life is far more complicated and complex than it is crystallized for our mass consumption. The world, even in Technicolor, is never black and white. There are those gray areas that challenge us and make us wonder which way to turn. To fight for love or surrender it forever? Which is the noble, right and true path? And which will serve her best?
I wish I knew.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
WHAT WOULD YOU CHOOSE?
If happiness stood before you, if everything you ever wanted in a relationship -- love, romance, spontaneity, companionship, humor, collaboration, trust, sharing, shared interests, tenderness, beauty and passion -- was right in front of you, you'd grab for it, right?
Who among us does not want to find that one person, that perfect partner with which to spend the rest of our lives? Who would walk away from the chance at bliss? At happiness? At being with your soulmate, your better half, the one person who completes you?
Ahh, but what if that came with the knowledge that it will not last, that what you see before you will be with you for a year or two and then slowly fade away until, at the end, the love has turned to hate and he/she will loathe the thought of you and run as far from you as he/she can?
Would you still want those few years, those precious memories, those shared moments? Or would you rather not reach that mountaintop nirvana because the coal mine of despair awaits at the end? Is even a brief glimpse of love, of that one perfect relationship, worth the price you would have to pay? And if you love the other person would you also rather not put them through the end? Would you rather they not carry around the hate they will have for you? Wouldn't it be better for them and for you if the two of you never even meet?
There is, of course, a flaw in this self-argument. In order for the relationship to end in agony, it must start. And you must love him/her, or else all of this is mere conjecture, pure theory. You can't know, when a relationship starts, where it might be going. You can't see that it will end "happily ever after" or in a bitter, spite-laced conversation. All you can do is risk your heart, risk your future, risk your hopes, risk your dreams. You could end up a big winner, taking the jackpot -- love for a lifetime -- or you could end up broke and broken in the street with nothing left and nothing to look forward to.
So you can live your life as a hermit -- literally or figuratively -- and take no such risk and claim it is all in order to spare the one you might love, and yourself, from the potential sorrow of a relationship that does not last. Or you can choose to love and risk the piercing ache of longing and loss, of emptiness and ending, of sorrow and sadness over one you still love with all of your heart, mind, soul and body, who no longer wants to see you, talk to you, hear about you, acknowledge you, today or evermore.
Every day there is a choice to be made.
Which will it be?
Who among us does not want to find that one person, that perfect partner with which to spend the rest of our lives? Who would walk away from the chance at bliss? At happiness? At being with your soulmate, your better half, the one person who completes you?
Ahh, but what if that came with the knowledge that it will not last, that what you see before you will be with you for a year or two and then slowly fade away until, at the end, the love has turned to hate and he/she will loathe the thought of you and run as far from you as he/she can?
Would you still want those few years, those precious memories, those shared moments? Or would you rather not reach that mountaintop nirvana because the coal mine of despair awaits at the end? Is even a brief glimpse of love, of that one perfect relationship, worth the price you would have to pay? And if you love the other person would you also rather not put them through the end? Would you rather they not carry around the hate they will have for you? Wouldn't it be better for them and for you if the two of you never even meet?
There is, of course, a flaw in this self-argument. In order for the relationship to end in agony, it must start. And you must love him/her, or else all of this is mere conjecture, pure theory. You can't know, when a relationship starts, where it might be going. You can't see that it will end "happily ever after" or in a bitter, spite-laced conversation. All you can do is risk your heart, risk your future, risk your hopes, risk your dreams. You could end up a big winner, taking the jackpot -- love for a lifetime -- or you could end up broke and broken in the street with nothing left and nothing to look forward to.
So you can live your life as a hermit -- literally or figuratively -- and take no such risk and claim it is all in order to spare the one you might love, and yourself, from the potential sorrow of a relationship that does not last. Or you can choose to love and risk the piercing ache of longing and loss, of emptiness and ending, of sorrow and sadness over one you still love with all of your heart, mind, soul and body, who no longer wants to see you, talk to you, hear about you, acknowledge you, today or evermore.
Every day there is a choice to be made.
Which will it be?
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
JUST NOT ENOUGH
When you finally screw up the courage to call her, to find out how she is and to let her know that you care, that you still love her, that she remains the center of your life, she lets you know that she can have no more contact with you. A relationship with you is part of her past and she is moving forward.
Without you.
It is like a punch to the gut, this news. You sensed things were strained, were difficult, but you assumed the two of you would find a way, your love would survive. Now, in the space of mere seconds, before your mind can respond with anything more than a stunned, deadpan "okay," she has turned your world dark. As in scary dark. Frightening dark. Imposing dark. I-can't-see-where-I-am-going dark.
Before the phone call ends, before you even realize that you have not told her half of what you wanted to say, you tell her that all you want is the very best for her.
And then, in the click, she is gone. Forever.
You had hoped against all hope that you would be the very best for her. Apparently she doesn't think so.
As your rattled mind and aching heart struggle to grasp the news, deal with this turn of events, emotions ebb into a deep sadness and a yearning for death. The end, after all, seems so welcoming once there is no reason to go on living. It would be far easier to be dead than to spend another second on this planet knowing there will be no future with her. You consider ways in which to hasten the end. You could drive into a bridge abutment (you don't want to hurt someone else on the way out), except there are none on your drive home from work. You could swerve into traffic once you're back on your bike. That would be effective, so you give it serious consideration. Maybe you could just find a very dangerous job and get hired to do it. Photographer in a war zone. Digging up land mines. Something like that.
Mostly, though, you just want to run away, to be anywhere but here. Here there are far too many reminders of what you had with her, her existence, her reality. The loss hits you everywhere you turn. Here is where we shared a first kiss. Here is where you first held her. Here is where you used to meet. There's the bar where you shared drinks. Under this bridge she once stopped you, just to give you a kiss. She couldn't wait. Bittersweet reminders assault you from every corner of this place. Better to leave and start over somewhere else, where no one knows you and you know no one and nothing. Where everything will be fresh and new.
But you can't do that overnight, so eventually the hurt and the sadness and the loss holds you awake, giving you the yin to the yang of the night when she first told you that she cared for you. This night is its bookend. Where one kept you awake riding on a wave of happiness and disbelief, this one keeps you awake with the dull ache of a broken heart and the gnawing chasm of emptiness within. When sleep finally does come it is fitful and offers no real rest.
When you awaken, the reality of what happened remains and it follows you around wherever you go. Eventually the hurt forms itself into words, words you now want to share with her, so she can read just how much she has wounded you. So you write them down, thinking to leave them somewhere she can find them, so she will realize how deeply she hurt you.
This is all her fault, you tell your heart. She was incapable of loving or of being loved. That's what was wrong.
You're only fooling yourself. The truth is harsher and harder than that. The truth is you were not enough for her -- not enough of a man, not enough of a friend, not enough of a listener, not enough of a lover, not important enough, not vital enough, not young enough, not smart enough, not gentle enough, not kind enough, not spontaneous enough, not creative enough, not supportive enough, not sensitive enough, not wise enough, not there enough, not accessible enough. You just were not enough.
Because if you were enough, if you were important, and vital, and smart, and gentle, and kind, and spontaneous, and supportive, and sensitive, and wise, and accessible and everything else she needed and wanted in a man, she would not be able to walk away from you. She would put you and the relationship first. And the two of you still would be together, somehow.
But you were none of the things she needed, regardless of how she was when the two of you were together. You were fun while it lasted, exciting for a while, enough for the moment, okay for now. You were not enough, though, to stick with forever, to risk the future on, to choose to be with today and all the rest of your shared tomorrows.
So as your heart aches, as your guts remain tied in knots, as the siren's song of death calls to you, don't blame her. This is not her fault, nor is it her problem. The problem simply is you.
You were not enough.
Without you.
It is like a punch to the gut, this news. You sensed things were strained, were difficult, but you assumed the two of you would find a way, your love would survive. Now, in the space of mere seconds, before your mind can respond with anything more than a stunned, deadpan "okay," she has turned your world dark. As in scary dark. Frightening dark. Imposing dark. I-can't-see-where-I-am-going dark.
Before the phone call ends, before you even realize that you have not told her half of what you wanted to say, you tell her that all you want is the very best for her.
And then, in the click, she is gone. Forever.
You had hoped against all hope that you would be the very best for her. Apparently she doesn't think so.
As your rattled mind and aching heart struggle to grasp the news, deal with this turn of events, emotions ebb into a deep sadness and a yearning for death. The end, after all, seems so welcoming once there is no reason to go on living. It would be far easier to be dead than to spend another second on this planet knowing there will be no future with her. You consider ways in which to hasten the end. You could drive into a bridge abutment (you don't want to hurt someone else on the way out), except there are none on your drive home from work. You could swerve into traffic once you're back on your bike. That would be effective, so you give it serious consideration. Maybe you could just find a very dangerous job and get hired to do it. Photographer in a war zone. Digging up land mines. Something like that.
Mostly, though, you just want to run away, to be anywhere but here. Here there are far too many reminders of what you had with her, her existence, her reality. The loss hits you everywhere you turn. Here is where we shared a first kiss. Here is where you first held her. Here is where you used to meet. There's the bar where you shared drinks. Under this bridge she once stopped you, just to give you a kiss. She couldn't wait. Bittersweet reminders assault you from every corner of this place. Better to leave and start over somewhere else, where no one knows you and you know no one and nothing. Where everything will be fresh and new.
But you can't do that overnight, so eventually the hurt and the sadness and the loss holds you awake, giving you the yin to the yang of the night when she first told you that she cared for you. This night is its bookend. Where one kept you awake riding on a wave of happiness and disbelief, this one keeps you awake with the dull ache of a broken heart and the gnawing chasm of emptiness within. When sleep finally does come it is fitful and offers no real rest.
When you awaken, the reality of what happened remains and it follows you around wherever you go. Eventually the hurt forms itself into words, words you now want to share with her, so she can read just how much she has wounded you. So you write them down, thinking to leave them somewhere she can find them, so she will realize how deeply she hurt you.
This is all her fault, you tell your heart. She was incapable of loving or of being loved. That's what was wrong.
You're only fooling yourself. The truth is harsher and harder than that. The truth is you were not enough for her -- not enough of a man, not enough of a friend, not enough of a listener, not enough of a lover, not important enough, not vital enough, not young enough, not smart enough, not gentle enough, not kind enough, not spontaneous enough, not creative enough, not supportive enough, not sensitive enough, not wise enough, not there enough, not accessible enough. You just were not enough.
Because if you were enough, if you were important, and vital, and smart, and gentle, and kind, and spontaneous, and supportive, and sensitive, and wise, and accessible and everything else she needed and wanted in a man, she would not be able to walk away from you. She would put you and the relationship first. And the two of you still would be together, somehow.
But you were none of the things she needed, regardless of how she was when the two of you were together. You were fun while it lasted, exciting for a while, enough for the moment, okay for now. You were not enough, though, to stick with forever, to risk the future on, to choose to be with today and all the rest of your shared tomorrows.
So as your heart aches, as your guts remain tied in knots, as the siren's song of death calls to you, don't blame her. This is not her fault, nor is it her problem. The problem simply is you.
You were not enough.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
WAITING AT THE CEMETERY
I sat under the sprawling arms of an age-old tree and let the sun warm my skin. The tree stood at the edge of a quiet rural cemetery. And I sat under it because my bike had developed a flat rear tire. I had no spare tube nor any way to inflate one if I'd remembered to pack one in the small seat bag. But I'd put my cell phone in my jersey pocket so I called my oldest son to come get me (his car has a bike rack on the roof). Then I just waited.
In many ways, I thought, I am waiting on the outside edge of a cemetery. Literally and figuratively. I was waiting for him to drive by so I could flag him down and get a ride home. And I am waiting, spiritually and figuratively, for my life to end and so enter into a cemetery. Not this particular cemetery, mind you, but that place we all go at death.
I could have nursed the flat tire back home -- some 15 miles or more -- but that would destroy the tire and possibly damage the wheel. I know because I have done this before. I opted for the more economical, but easily also more embarrassing phone call and wait for a ride.
I could rage against the passage of time, dress like today's teens, grow my hair long again, buy a sports car, find a 20-something "girlfriend" and burn the physical, mental and spiritual candle at both ends, day and night. But that would destroy a lifetime of learning as well as take a terrible toll on the very health on which I rely. I know this because I lived through that when I was in my teens and 20s. I know this because I periodically stepped back into that way of life when work demanded 24-hour-plus shifts or the rare gathering lasted until the wee hours of the lightening morning. I prefer to act my age, for the most part, and accept that I am old and growing older with increasing speed, even if that means I no longer am attractive to women because of thinning, graying hair, the lines age sculpts onto a face and a body unable to fight gravity as it did when young and supple.
So I sit under a tree, on the "living" side of the fence surrounding a cemetery, and wait. Either someone will come along and save me, offering me a love to last me until my dying day, or I may just open those gates and head inside.
After all, given enough time, the grass eventually does look a lot greener on the other side.
In many ways, I thought, I am waiting on the outside edge of a cemetery. Literally and figuratively. I was waiting for him to drive by so I could flag him down and get a ride home. And I am waiting, spiritually and figuratively, for my life to end and so enter into a cemetery. Not this particular cemetery, mind you, but that place we all go at death.
I could have nursed the flat tire back home -- some 15 miles or more -- but that would destroy the tire and possibly damage the wheel. I know because I have done this before. I opted for the more economical, but easily also more embarrassing phone call and wait for a ride.
I could rage against the passage of time, dress like today's teens, grow my hair long again, buy a sports car, find a 20-something "girlfriend" and burn the physical, mental and spiritual candle at both ends, day and night. But that would destroy a lifetime of learning as well as take a terrible toll on the very health on which I rely. I know this because I lived through that when I was in my teens and 20s. I know this because I periodically stepped back into that way of life when work demanded 24-hour-plus shifts or the rare gathering lasted until the wee hours of the lightening morning. I prefer to act my age, for the most part, and accept that I am old and growing older with increasing speed, even if that means I no longer am attractive to women because of thinning, graying hair, the lines age sculpts onto a face and a body unable to fight gravity as it did when young and supple.
So I sit under a tree, on the "living" side of the fence surrounding a cemetery, and wait. Either someone will come along and save me, offering me a love to last me until my dying day, or I may just open those gates and head inside.
After all, given enough time, the grass eventually does look a lot greener on the other side.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
SAME OR DIFFERENT?
What, I often wonder, brings couples together? What, I think as I look at two people in love, did he see in her, or her in him? I don't mean those questions as mean or malicious, but as a statement of curiosity. I truly want to know what brings any two people together into a relationship. When he first looked at her, what did he see that drew him in her direction? When she first looked at him, what attracted, or repelled, her?
If, as the saying goes, opposites attract, then shouldn't we be drawn to people who've endured a completely opposite childhood? If I grew up with an alcoholic, abusive parent then I should be attracted to someone who comes from an Ozzie-and-Harriet background, right?
Well, not so fast.
See, I don't think we truly are drawn to our complete opposite, except that men are drawn to women and women to men, for the most part. And while comedians and even some writers want to point out the ways in which men and women are different -- and if you haven't noticed that we are then we need to sign you up for both a refresher biology course and far more interpersonal relationships with the opposite (see!) sex -- we are and probably should be drawn more to our similarities than our differences.
Study after study has shown, for instance, that the male who was the eldest in his family often weds a female who was eldest in her family, and youngest child marries youngest child. And people who grew up in big families are drawn to someone who grew up in a big family. People who grew up in wealth tend to wed others who shared a similar background.
Of course, no two people are ever completely alike and so there are always going to be differences, no matter what our backgrounds are. And it is those subtle and smaller differences, I think, that we tend to focus on too often while ignoring the commonalities and similarities.
That said, we sometimes -- and I speak here from hard-won experience -- dismiss the glaring, large, ominous differences with someone because we bought into that whole "opposites attract" line. I think too often people connect, wed or just pour themselves into relationships with people so fundamentally different from themselves simply because they believe that is what they are supposed to want. Just like society has and continues to hammer into our minds that women and men must look some idealized, stylized way (men with layer upon layer of muscles, perfect teeth and hair and chiseled jaws; women with Barbie-like bodies, too much makeup, perfect teeth and skin and long, polished nails and hair), so, too, have we swallowed -- hook, line and sinker -- this idea that we should be attracted to someone opposite to us.
I don't think so.
Even when I was younger I think that "opposites attract" thing sounded a little lame to me, but back then I was stunned if any woman/girl gave me so much as a glance, let alone a second look. She might have really been from Venus as far as I knew or cared, the slightest interest was all I wanted. As I've aged, though, I realize and cherish the value of a woman with whom I share interests, passions, ideas, faith, romance, friendship, companionship and many other commonalities, traits I find important to what I seek in a relationship. I don't want someone different from me. And I can't fathom why anyone would.
If, as the saying goes, opposites attract, then shouldn't we be drawn to people who've endured a completely opposite childhood? If I grew up with an alcoholic, abusive parent then I should be attracted to someone who comes from an Ozzie-and-Harriet background, right?
Well, not so fast.
See, I don't think we truly are drawn to our complete opposite, except that men are drawn to women and women to men, for the most part. And while comedians and even some writers want to point out the ways in which men and women are different -- and if you haven't noticed that we are then we need to sign you up for both a refresher biology course and far more interpersonal relationships with the opposite (see!) sex -- we are and probably should be drawn more to our similarities than our differences.
Study after study has shown, for instance, that the male who was the eldest in his family often weds a female who was eldest in her family, and youngest child marries youngest child. And people who grew up in big families are drawn to someone who grew up in a big family. People who grew up in wealth tend to wed others who shared a similar background.
Of course, no two people are ever completely alike and so there are always going to be differences, no matter what our backgrounds are. And it is those subtle and smaller differences, I think, that we tend to focus on too often while ignoring the commonalities and similarities.
That said, we sometimes -- and I speak here from hard-won experience -- dismiss the glaring, large, ominous differences with someone because we bought into that whole "opposites attract" line. I think too often people connect, wed or just pour themselves into relationships with people so fundamentally different from themselves simply because they believe that is what they are supposed to want. Just like society has and continues to hammer into our minds that women and men must look some idealized, stylized way (men with layer upon layer of muscles, perfect teeth and hair and chiseled jaws; women with Barbie-like bodies, too much makeup, perfect teeth and skin and long, polished nails and hair), so, too, have we swallowed -- hook, line and sinker -- this idea that we should be attracted to someone opposite to us.
I don't think so.
Even when I was younger I think that "opposites attract" thing sounded a little lame to me, but back then I was stunned if any woman/girl gave me so much as a glance, let alone a second look. She might have really been from Venus as far as I knew or cared, the slightest interest was all I wanted. As I've aged, though, I realize and cherish the value of a woman with whom I share interests, passions, ideas, faith, romance, friendship, companionship and many other commonalities, traits I find important to what I seek in a relationship. I don't want someone different from me. And I can't fathom why anyone would.
Friday, October 7, 2011
BE READY TO ENDURE
As a runner, I endured heat that baked the soles of my shoes and feet, cold that caused ice to form on the hairs of my nostrils and darkness that often put my life at risk. As a cyclist, I have battled winds that attempt to push my bike out from underneath me, rain and hail that pelted me with stinging indifference and traffic that often puts me and others on the road in immediate danger.
In any distance sport, the participant must endure. Not just the distance involved, but everything along the way. In a race, there also are the other competitors to watch for, to pick one to chase down, to hear another's labored breath in your ear as they slowly pass you. Or, at least in cycling, to feel the "whoosh" of a peleton go flying past as if you were standing still and only this mass of wheels and bikes were moving.
Each tests your resolve, your strength of will, your ability to endure. That is what endurance sports are all about. They are far less about time and distance, about winning or not winning, as they are about the inner test of man(woman) vs. self, of mind vs. muscle, of will vs. weakness.
Sometimes love is an endurance test.
You may think it is a sprint, that you are in a hurry to get from the start to the finish and to finally be with the one you love for the rest of your life. But the race is not over when you finally are together. Instead, it has just begun. But where you once ran, rode, raced alone, now you do this together, with the one you love. And, like a team, you can only run, ride, race as fast as you are able to do together. For, much like a sack race, you stride with her, ride with her, race by her side, bound to her to the very finish.
Sometimes, though, the endurance test begins at the very start. Sometimes, what you must endure is waiting, the waiting for the time to come when she notices you, or realizes you are even alive. Sometimes you must endure and wait for the time when she finally will put love and your relationship first. At other times you may have to endure the test of time, and, like the mountain climber, seek that correct route to the summit that holds her love and her heart.
And sometimes, like the steeplechase runner, you have to not only endure the distance and the waiting, but obstacles life puts in both of your paths. Sometimes you have to be patient and wait for God to clear the way for the two of you to finally be together.
You can try to sprint to the finish, but you will tire and fall by the wayside if you do. Only with the mindset of the distance athlete, the endurance participant, can you find the will, the strength and the patience to wait for love, to endure for love, to be ready for love when it finally arrives.
To finally have love, a love worth waiting for, you must be ready to endure.
In any distance sport, the participant must endure. Not just the distance involved, but everything along the way. In a race, there also are the other competitors to watch for, to pick one to chase down, to hear another's labored breath in your ear as they slowly pass you. Or, at least in cycling, to feel the "whoosh" of a peleton go flying past as if you were standing still and only this mass of wheels and bikes were moving.
Each tests your resolve, your strength of will, your ability to endure. That is what endurance sports are all about. They are far less about time and distance, about winning or not winning, as they are about the inner test of man(woman) vs. self, of mind vs. muscle, of will vs. weakness.
Sometimes love is an endurance test.
You may think it is a sprint, that you are in a hurry to get from the start to the finish and to finally be with the one you love for the rest of your life. But the race is not over when you finally are together. Instead, it has just begun. But where you once ran, rode, raced alone, now you do this together, with the one you love. And, like a team, you can only run, ride, race as fast as you are able to do together. For, much like a sack race, you stride with her, ride with her, race by her side, bound to her to the very finish.
Sometimes, though, the endurance test begins at the very start. Sometimes, what you must endure is waiting, the waiting for the time to come when she notices you, or realizes you are even alive. Sometimes you must endure and wait for the time when she finally will put love and your relationship first. At other times you may have to endure the test of time, and, like the mountain climber, seek that correct route to the summit that holds her love and her heart.
And sometimes, like the steeplechase runner, you have to not only endure the distance and the waiting, but obstacles life puts in both of your paths. Sometimes you have to be patient and wait for God to clear the way for the two of you to finally be together.
You can try to sprint to the finish, but you will tire and fall by the wayside if you do. Only with the mindset of the distance athlete, the endurance participant, can you find the will, the strength and the patience to wait for love, to endure for love, to be ready for love when it finally arrives.
To finally have love, a love worth waiting for, you must be ready to endure.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
BESTED BY FEAR
You meet someone. You like this someone. You want to have a relationship with this someone.
There's just one problem: This person doesn't want a relationship with you.
I'd guess that everyone has had that happen at least once in their lives. It could be a case of meeting the wrong person, of having feelings for someone who does not reciprocate. Or it could be a case of bad timing, of you being in a far different place romantically, spiritually, lovingly than the person you meet. You may want to have a serious relationship with them and they may simply want a good time.
I had always thought that if two people met at the right time, when they both were ready to love each other, when they both DID love each other, that nothing should stand in their way. That they could and should lean on each other, on the love they have and share, and face whatever life throws at them, hand-in-hand, shoulder to shoulder, together.
Let's face it, I'm a romantic idealist. Even after all of these years.
Don't get me wrong, while I am a sucker for happily-ever-after stories in movies and books, I know from personal experience that nothing goes that smoothly, that any relationship has its challenges and obstacles, its ups and its downs. But I always felt that when you faced those with someone you loved, things just went better. And I truly believe in what someone once told me, "when you love someone, a relationship isn't work. It's only work when you don't love someone."
So when I met someone and fell in love, I worried at first that I was in this alone, that she did not and could not feel as I did. When she told me that she felt as I did, the news struck me so hard I could not sleep that night. I just lay there, stunned that I had finally found her, that she had found me, that we had found each other.
As I lay there, I just assumed we would spend the rest of our lives together. I could not imagine anything stopping us. What could possibly prevent us from loving each other forever?
I simply forgot about "Romeo and Juliet," "Wuthering Heights" and the many other romantic tragedies I had read and seen through the years. Maybe because most, but not all, of them were tragic because one of them -- usually the male -- let his pride stand in the way of his love for her. Well, I thought, that is not a problem for me. I will never let my pride, or anything else, get in the way of loving her.
I never thought she might walk away from us, from our relationship.
But she did. Out of fear. Spurred by anxiety. Driven by paranoia. Overwhelmed by other emotions.
Love is no match for them. Faced with fear and all its friends, love cowers in the corner like a beaten dog, afraid of its own shadow.
Like so many lessons in life, I have learned the hard way that love does not conquer all. Love is not all it is cracked up to be in the movies, in literature. Two people can be in love and it still can fall apart. Because love is just one emotion. And it simply is no match for any of the others.
There's just one problem: This person doesn't want a relationship with you.
I'd guess that everyone has had that happen at least once in their lives. It could be a case of meeting the wrong person, of having feelings for someone who does not reciprocate. Or it could be a case of bad timing, of you being in a far different place romantically, spiritually, lovingly than the person you meet. You may want to have a serious relationship with them and they may simply want a good time.
I had always thought that if two people met at the right time, when they both were ready to love each other, when they both DID love each other, that nothing should stand in their way. That they could and should lean on each other, on the love they have and share, and face whatever life throws at them, hand-in-hand, shoulder to shoulder, together.
Let's face it, I'm a romantic idealist. Even after all of these years.
Don't get me wrong, while I am a sucker for happily-ever-after stories in movies and books, I know from personal experience that nothing goes that smoothly, that any relationship has its challenges and obstacles, its ups and its downs. But I always felt that when you faced those with someone you loved, things just went better. And I truly believe in what someone once told me, "when you love someone, a relationship isn't work. It's only work when you don't love someone."
So when I met someone and fell in love, I worried at first that I was in this alone, that she did not and could not feel as I did. When she told me that she felt as I did, the news struck me so hard I could not sleep that night. I just lay there, stunned that I had finally found her, that she had found me, that we had found each other.
As I lay there, I just assumed we would spend the rest of our lives together. I could not imagine anything stopping us. What could possibly prevent us from loving each other forever?
I simply forgot about "Romeo and Juliet," "Wuthering Heights" and the many other romantic tragedies I had read and seen through the years. Maybe because most, but not all, of them were tragic because one of them -- usually the male -- let his pride stand in the way of his love for her. Well, I thought, that is not a problem for me. I will never let my pride, or anything else, get in the way of loving her.
I never thought she might walk away from us, from our relationship.
But she did. Out of fear. Spurred by anxiety. Driven by paranoia. Overwhelmed by other emotions.
Love is no match for them. Faced with fear and all its friends, love cowers in the corner like a beaten dog, afraid of its own shadow.
Like so many lessons in life, I have learned the hard way that love does not conquer all. Love is not all it is cracked up to be in the movies, in literature. Two people can be in love and it still can fall apart. Because love is just one emotion. And it simply is no match for any of the others.
Monday, September 19, 2011
NO HEART TO FOLLOW
How many times has someone told you to "follow your heart?"
I never kept track, but somewhere along the line I followed that advice. I followed my heart. I let it lead me. I took my cues from it.
Now look where it has taken me. To emptiness. To sadness. To loneliness. To loss.
I was, of course, a fool. For while I held fast to the belief that love can strike at any time and at any age, I never once considered there might be a price for such a faith. Following my heart and keeping it open to love also meant leaving it open to hurt, to pain, to loss, to suffering, to rejection. For some reason I had assumed that all my previous losses, all the earlier hurts, all the younger rejections had granted me an immunity from that side of the loving equation. But that earlier damage only thickened the skin, only numbed the nerves, only created a few callouses that required far deeper and much greater damage be done before my heart felt the pain. That meant letting someone in much further and being more vulnerable than ever before. That's when it hurt, and it really hurt.
I not only had to swallow the bait, I had to take the hook inside too so that when she tore it out, it ripped out all of my insides with it, instead of just causing a small tear. Or two. Or three.
What she pulled out was not just my heart, but my faith, my hope, my love, my ability to love, my romance, my very being. I had lived for so long following my heart, she left me without an inner compass, without any guidance. I no longer know where to go next, where to turn, what to do because I no longer have a heart to follow. Or the heart to follow.
I am not paralyzed. I am not frozen. Those would be preferred because the paralyzed feel nothing and the frozen cannot experience pain. No, I am left alive enough to suffer on in an empty existence that offers nothing but the promise of more empty aching pain, years of agonizing solitude, decades of hopeless, barren horizons with nothing to look forward to in any direction.
Not that I am going anywhere now. Without my heart to lead me, I have absolutely nowhere to go.
I never kept track, but somewhere along the line I followed that advice. I followed my heart. I let it lead me. I took my cues from it.
Now look where it has taken me. To emptiness. To sadness. To loneliness. To loss.
I was, of course, a fool. For while I held fast to the belief that love can strike at any time and at any age, I never once considered there might be a price for such a faith. Following my heart and keeping it open to love also meant leaving it open to hurt, to pain, to loss, to suffering, to rejection. For some reason I had assumed that all my previous losses, all the earlier hurts, all the younger rejections had granted me an immunity from that side of the loving equation. But that earlier damage only thickened the skin, only numbed the nerves, only created a few callouses that required far deeper and much greater damage be done before my heart felt the pain. That meant letting someone in much further and being more vulnerable than ever before. That's when it hurt, and it really hurt.
I not only had to swallow the bait, I had to take the hook inside too so that when she tore it out, it ripped out all of my insides with it, instead of just causing a small tear. Or two. Or three.
What she pulled out was not just my heart, but my faith, my hope, my love, my ability to love, my romance, my very being. I had lived for so long following my heart, she left me without an inner compass, without any guidance. I no longer know where to go next, where to turn, what to do because I no longer have a heart to follow. Or the heart to follow.
I am not paralyzed. I am not frozen. Those would be preferred because the paralyzed feel nothing and the frozen cannot experience pain. No, I am left alive enough to suffer on in an empty existence that offers nothing but the promise of more empty aching pain, years of agonizing solitude, decades of hopeless, barren horizons with nothing to look forward to in any direction.
Not that I am going anywhere now. Without my heart to lead me, I have absolutely nowhere to go.
Monday, August 22, 2011
A CLOAK OF SADNESS
Love, I once thought, was the answer.
To all of the world’s problems. To all of the questions in my life.
But I was wrong. Now I am like the spinster teacher who, rumor has it, once loved a handsome young man with all her heart, only to lose him in the war. She never again dated another. Or like the bachelor uncle who, family wags say, once was married to the happiest, most lovely woman whoever walked the earth, only to lose her decades ago to a fatal illness. He never had the heart to wed again.
Now, like them, I walk through this world cloaked in an impenetrable and unshakable sadness. No tear is ever seen to fall from my eyes, but the sadness clings to them, like the fogbank hugs the shore. No sob escapes from my breast, but the heart inside beats quietly, softly, solemnly, as a condemned man walks to the gallows.
I was not always this way.
I once lived as if happiness were around the next corner, where Joy would greet me with a warm smile and kisses, her tender hands holding my face as she looked deeply and lovingly into my eyes. I really believed that was possible, that true love was just out there, waiting to be discovered by me.
I was not happy, not yet. But I would be eventually, soon enough. I just had to wait, be patient and my happiness would come.
You can live that way, buoyed along by the hope for happiness. You can live in that limbo, that birthing canal, on your way to a better life at any moment.
But you can’t relive that way once you leave it. Once you have been birthed into the world, once you have stepped around that corner, there is no going back, no retreat.
You see, I once had happiness. I caressed it in my arms, kissed it with my lips, touched it with my hands, beheld it with my eyes. Like a fool, I thought it would last forever, that nothing could ever make it end. Then one day, it ran away and left me.
Standing.
Lost.
Forgotten.
Alone.
Fear forced it to flee. It gripped my happiness by the shoulders and snarled in its face, saliva dripping from its fangs and the putrid stench of paranoia on its fetid breath. Before I could reason with my happiness, before I could promise to protect it from fear and all of its friends – anxiety, worry, mistrust and others --- happiness had taken flight, never, I fear, to be seen or heard again.
Now I walk through this world wrapped in my cloak of sadness. It does not keep me warm and offers no protection from the elements. But it is well-worn by me and offers me that comfort only familiarity can provide. It also keeps others at bay, standing far enough away so they won’t catch sadness too, in case it is contagious.
And it may well be. After all, I caught mine from my happiness.
To all of the world’s problems. To all of the questions in my life.
But I was wrong. Now I am like the spinster teacher who, rumor has it, once loved a handsome young man with all her heart, only to lose him in the war. She never again dated another. Or like the bachelor uncle who, family wags say, once was married to the happiest, most lovely woman whoever walked the earth, only to lose her decades ago to a fatal illness. He never had the heart to wed again.
Now, like them, I walk through this world cloaked in an impenetrable and unshakable sadness. No tear is ever seen to fall from my eyes, but the sadness clings to them, like the fogbank hugs the shore. No sob escapes from my breast, but the heart inside beats quietly, softly, solemnly, as a condemned man walks to the gallows.
I was not always this way.
I once lived as if happiness were around the next corner, where Joy would greet me with a warm smile and kisses, her tender hands holding my face as she looked deeply and lovingly into my eyes. I really believed that was possible, that true love was just out there, waiting to be discovered by me.
I was not happy, not yet. But I would be eventually, soon enough. I just had to wait, be patient and my happiness would come.
You can live that way, buoyed along by the hope for happiness. You can live in that limbo, that birthing canal, on your way to a better life at any moment.
But you can’t relive that way once you leave it. Once you have been birthed into the world, once you have stepped around that corner, there is no going back, no retreat.
You see, I once had happiness. I caressed it in my arms, kissed it with my lips, touched it with my hands, beheld it with my eyes. Like a fool, I thought it would last forever, that nothing could ever make it end. Then one day, it ran away and left me.
Standing.
Lost.
Forgotten.
Alone.
Fear forced it to flee. It gripped my happiness by the shoulders and snarled in its face, saliva dripping from its fangs and the putrid stench of paranoia on its fetid breath. Before I could reason with my happiness, before I could promise to protect it from fear and all of its friends – anxiety, worry, mistrust and others --- happiness had taken flight, never, I fear, to be seen or heard again.
Now I walk through this world wrapped in my cloak of sadness. It does not keep me warm and offers no protection from the elements. But it is well-worn by me and offers me that comfort only familiarity can provide. It also keeps others at bay, standing far enough away so they won’t catch sadness too, in case it is contagious.
And it may well be. After all, I caught mine from my happiness.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
A HOMELESS HEART
An abiding restlessness permeates the skin, flooding muscle and bone alike.
It clings to hair, covers the body, fills the mind, overflows into the soul.
No location feels quite right. No place offers even a second’s peace or relaxation. The knife is always on edge, the muscles always taught, the mind always on alert, the body always in motion.
This is what it is like to be homeless in your own skin.
There is no rest. In bed, the urge is to remain awake. Awake, the urge is to sleep. Driving, the need is to be sitting still. Sitting still, the push is to get moving. The next place, the next stop offers some hope, but it soon dissolves like salt into warm water. Just keep moving on, a vagabond in your own life, unable to settle down, incapable of finding peace.
People surround, filling in empty places, but even the familiar is now a stranger, the sight of anyone, everyone a cause to flee to – Where? Where to go that offers any hope?
A memory lingers – or is it simply the reminder of a mirage? -- of a place that once was home, a place where heart, mind, body and soul felt at ease, was comfortable, found contentment. It is out there somewhere, isn’t it?
It is not out there somewhere. It is out there with someone. Because home, the saying goes, is where the heart is. This is what happens when the heart has been given to another. When the heart no longer abides inside, but belongs to a place and a person who has taken it far away. Where, then, is home?
Home is a person. Home is completeness. Home is peace. Home is where heart, body, mind and soul finally can rest easy.
But there is no going home. A lifetime ban has been issued. Home is off-limits. Home is out of bounds. Home is unreachable. Home is unattainable. Home is for someone else.
All that is left is restlessness, unease, no peace.
There is no home, or hope, for the weary.
It clings to hair, covers the body, fills the mind, overflows into the soul.
No location feels quite right. No place offers even a second’s peace or relaxation. The knife is always on edge, the muscles always taught, the mind always on alert, the body always in motion.
This is what it is like to be homeless in your own skin.
There is no rest. In bed, the urge is to remain awake. Awake, the urge is to sleep. Driving, the need is to be sitting still. Sitting still, the push is to get moving. The next place, the next stop offers some hope, but it soon dissolves like salt into warm water. Just keep moving on, a vagabond in your own life, unable to settle down, incapable of finding peace.
People surround, filling in empty places, but even the familiar is now a stranger, the sight of anyone, everyone a cause to flee to – Where? Where to go that offers any hope?
A memory lingers – or is it simply the reminder of a mirage? -- of a place that once was home, a place where heart, mind, body and soul felt at ease, was comfortable, found contentment. It is out there somewhere, isn’t it?
It is not out there somewhere. It is out there with someone. Because home, the saying goes, is where the heart is. This is what happens when the heart has been given to another. When the heart no longer abides inside, but belongs to a place and a person who has taken it far away. Where, then, is home?
Home is a person. Home is completeness. Home is peace. Home is where heart, body, mind and soul finally can rest easy.
But there is no going home. A lifetime ban has been issued. Home is off-limits. Home is out of bounds. Home is unreachable. Home is unattainable. Home is for someone else.
All that is left is restlessness, unease, no peace.
There is no home, or hope, for the weary.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
HOW WILL YOU KNOW?
When I was growing up, I wondered a lot about love. I knew I loved my parents and my siblings. I knew I "loved" football and most other sports. I knew I "loved" my mother's homemade pies.
But I was unsure how to know if I loved someone else, someone from outside the family sphere.
For many years this was not a problem, since women avoided me like the plague. I couldn't buy a date, let alone get one with a simple request. When I did screw up the courage to ask a woman out, it often was met with a look of disgust and disdain, as if she would not deign to date me if I were the last male on the planet. It is safe to say I knew I did not love any of them.
Still, I wanted to know how I could be sure I loved someone, if the right woman ever came along. People who'd experienced love would just say, "You'll know," and get a wistful look on their faces. I had no idea what that meant or how that was supposed to help me when the time came.
Then, by a miracle, I fell in love. And in that moment I understood what those people had been trying to tell me. When you know, you just know. In your heart. In your soul. In every cell of your being. You know you love her more than life itself, more than anything or anyone else on the planet. That knowledge helped explain to me why "a man will leave his mother and father and cling" to the woman he loves. It explained to me, better than anything else, the story of the pearl of great price. I could never understand why someone would sell everything he had in order to have this one singular pearl. After all, it was just a pearl! And no matter how much that pearl would get him, it didn't seem to be worth the trouble of selling off everything he had. Ahh, but when you see the pearl as love, as that one person on earth you were born to love, then that parable makes so much more sense. For you will gladly, happily sell off everything you have in order to have her in your life for the rest of that life.
Knowing you love her, however, does not eliminate all worry and anxiety. You'll still be plagued by worries -- Does she love you? What if something happens to her, how will you ever go on? What challenges and hurdles will life throw at the two of you? -- and challenges -- You'll need to be vigilant to make sure you never forget what a miraculous gift she is and to reassure her of that on a daily, hourly basis; you'll have to be ready to make sacrifices to ensure her continued happiness; and you'll have to learn to allow her space and time to herself, to let her grow and develop and become the complete woman she was born to be, all while remaining a part of that growth and that life by sharing it with her.
If you truly love her and know it, then these challenges and hurdles will be so much easier to clear because love makes everything easier. As a wise person once said, "If you truly love someone, it is not work. It is only work when you don't love someone."
And you'll know you love someone when, well, you just know.
Trust me on this, okay?
But I was unsure how to know if I loved someone else, someone from outside the family sphere.
For many years this was not a problem, since women avoided me like the plague. I couldn't buy a date, let alone get one with a simple request. When I did screw up the courage to ask a woman out, it often was met with a look of disgust and disdain, as if she would not deign to date me if I were the last male on the planet. It is safe to say I knew I did not love any of them.
Still, I wanted to know how I could be sure I loved someone, if the right woman ever came along. People who'd experienced love would just say, "You'll know," and get a wistful look on their faces. I had no idea what that meant or how that was supposed to help me when the time came.
Then, by a miracle, I fell in love. And in that moment I understood what those people had been trying to tell me. When you know, you just know. In your heart. In your soul. In every cell of your being. You know you love her more than life itself, more than anything or anyone else on the planet. That knowledge helped explain to me why "a man will leave his mother and father and cling" to the woman he loves. It explained to me, better than anything else, the story of the pearl of great price. I could never understand why someone would sell everything he had in order to have this one singular pearl. After all, it was just a pearl! And no matter how much that pearl would get him, it didn't seem to be worth the trouble of selling off everything he had. Ahh, but when you see the pearl as love, as that one person on earth you were born to love, then that parable makes so much more sense. For you will gladly, happily sell off everything you have in order to have her in your life for the rest of that life.
Knowing you love her, however, does not eliminate all worry and anxiety. You'll still be plagued by worries -- Does she love you? What if something happens to her, how will you ever go on? What challenges and hurdles will life throw at the two of you? -- and challenges -- You'll need to be vigilant to make sure you never forget what a miraculous gift she is and to reassure her of that on a daily, hourly basis; you'll have to be ready to make sacrifices to ensure her continued happiness; and you'll have to learn to allow her space and time to herself, to let her grow and develop and become the complete woman she was born to be, all while remaining a part of that growth and that life by sharing it with her.
If you truly love her and know it, then these challenges and hurdles will be so much easier to clear because love makes everything easier. As a wise person once said, "If you truly love someone, it is not work. It is only work when you don't love someone."
And you'll know you love someone when, well, you just know.
Trust me on this, okay?
Friday, July 1, 2011
FACING THE TEST
In school, we faced a lot of tests. There were the math tests, the science tests, the spelling tests, the reading tests and then, from time to time, there were physical education tests. Life included other tests too, like classmates testing your manhood on the playground or friends testing your friendship by asking you to cover for them or do something your conscience wasn't sure was right.
I can't say I was ever good at tests. But, unlike some classmates, I grew to accept tests as a regular part of life. I didn't worry too much about them beforehand and I certainly didn't fret for a moment about how I did once that paper left my hand and headed to the teacher's desk. All I felt was relief that yet another test had passed and was over. My score was, well, my score and nothing I did or thought after the fact was going to change that.
The tests didn't end when I left school, however. They continued, even to this day. Work is a daily test, though with experience we get better at taking it. When I first started, the boss was testing me to see what I could do and how much I could get done and still do it well. The more I could do, the more was expected of me. In today's world, the test becomes how much I can do and take before I finally complain and say, ENOUGH!
Then there are the tests I make for myself. When I work out today, can I do a little more, work a little harder, make my body perform at a higher level than yesterday? What can I do to get faster, stronger, fitter? I want to push my body to the edge of fatigue, to edge of breaking down, but not past that point and into the chasm of tiredness, pain and injury that awaits those who go too far.
Relationships also are filled with tests. Her voice may well be asking you what you want to do, but her heart and mind might be testing you to see if you will choose something you really want to do -- which would be self-centered and maybe even selfish -- or if you will choose something you know she wants to do, even if it is something you dislike. Or she may test you by trusting you with something secret, something personal, to see what you do with such information. Do you share it with others? Do you brag about knowing it? Do you use that information as a weapon against her, threatening her peace of mind and heart and soul with it?
If you love her and she loves you, then there is trust and the tests are not an issue and not necessary. And if you trust her and she trusts you then there can be love and the answers to those questions and tests are easy. You keep her secrets in your heart where only you and she can share them and they will stay locked in there forever, if necessary.
But the heart can create other tests to face, tests that neither of you can foresee. Circumstance may force the two of you to be separated for a time and that is a test of both love and your hearts, to see how much you can bear. It can seem overwhelming, but if you can hold on and endure, what comes next can be an even deeper, more profound and more complete relationship than you thought or dreamed was possible. For while they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, I think absence makes us face the reality of our feelings for this person and makes us more acutely aware of just how much they mean to us and just how important they are to us. So that when we are reunited, we cherish this person even more than we did before. So that every kiss, every touch, every embrace, every spoken word and unspoken gesture is precious and vital and remembered. Our senses are even more attuned to their every movement, every breath. Like the sponge that has gone dry, we absorb every precious drop of life water he/she releases to us once we are together once again.
But first, we must survive the test. First we must graciously and stoically endure the separation, still loving them and caring for them and hoping for them and dreaming of them while waiting for that moment when the test is over and the grades are in and we have passed with flying colors. Then, and only then, can we begin to celebrate and continue the celebrating for the rest of our lives.
I can't say I was ever good at tests. But, unlike some classmates, I grew to accept tests as a regular part of life. I didn't worry too much about them beforehand and I certainly didn't fret for a moment about how I did once that paper left my hand and headed to the teacher's desk. All I felt was relief that yet another test had passed and was over. My score was, well, my score and nothing I did or thought after the fact was going to change that.
The tests didn't end when I left school, however. They continued, even to this day. Work is a daily test, though with experience we get better at taking it. When I first started, the boss was testing me to see what I could do and how much I could get done and still do it well. The more I could do, the more was expected of me. In today's world, the test becomes how much I can do and take before I finally complain and say, ENOUGH!
Then there are the tests I make for myself. When I work out today, can I do a little more, work a little harder, make my body perform at a higher level than yesterday? What can I do to get faster, stronger, fitter? I want to push my body to the edge of fatigue, to edge of breaking down, but not past that point and into the chasm of tiredness, pain and injury that awaits those who go too far.
Relationships also are filled with tests. Her voice may well be asking you what you want to do, but her heart and mind might be testing you to see if you will choose something you really want to do -- which would be self-centered and maybe even selfish -- or if you will choose something you know she wants to do, even if it is something you dislike. Or she may test you by trusting you with something secret, something personal, to see what you do with such information. Do you share it with others? Do you brag about knowing it? Do you use that information as a weapon against her, threatening her peace of mind and heart and soul with it?
If you love her and she loves you, then there is trust and the tests are not an issue and not necessary. And if you trust her and she trusts you then there can be love and the answers to those questions and tests are easy. You keep her secrets in your heart where only you and she can share them and they will stay locked in there forever, if necessary.
But the heart can create other tests to face, tests that neither of you can foresee. Circumstance may force the two of you to be separated for a time and that is a test of both love and your hearts, to see how much you can bear. It can seem overwhelming, but if you can hold on and endure, what comes next can be an even deeper, more profound and more complete relationship than you thought or dreamed was possible. For while they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, I think absence makes us face the reality of our feelings for this person and makes us more acutely aware of just how much they mean to us and just how important they are to us. So that when we are reunited, we cherish this person even more than we did before. So that every kiss, every touch, every embrace, every spoken word and unspoken gesture is precious and vital and remembered. Our senses are even more attuned to their every movement, every breath. Like the sponge that has gone dry, we absorb every precious drop of life water he/she releases to us once we are together once again.
But first, we must survive the test. First we must graciously and stoically endure the separation, still loving them and caring for them and hoping for them and dreaming of them while waiting for that moment when the test is over and the grades are in and we have passed with flying colors. Then, and only then, can we begin to celebrate and continue the celebrating for the rest of our lives.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
BEHOLDING REAL BEAUTY
While on my ride this morning, two young does ran out in front of my bike, each far enough away to be safe and yet close enough that I could hear their hooves on the pavement. They were beautiful to behold, amazing creatures. One of them was walking slowly across the road, apparently unaware of my somewhat silent approach, until I drew close when, startled, it ran off into the nearby field, nearly disappearing among the growing green plants.
It is not as though these old eyes have not seen deer before and yet every time I experience the closeness of nature and see its incredible beauty, I am struck with awe and thanks that such amazing creatures are on this earth and that I have been blessed with the opportunity to be near them.
I feel the same away about the woman I love. It does not matter how many days we've had together or all that we have shared or been through, I behold her anew each time I see her and am I struck awe and humbled greatly by her total beauty — interior and exterior. And I consider myself the most blessed man to have eyes that see and that my eyes get to see her. To hold her with my eyes is the greatest blessing bestowed on any man. She is the sight that lifts my spirits, enlivens my heart, brings light to my days. I rise each and every day with the hope that she is the first thing and person I will see. And I pray each night that she will be the last thing and person I see, and the only person I will ever touch.
I know that all of this sounds horribly hokey and syrupy. But it also is what my heart feels just knowing she is alive, in this world and a part of my life. Surely there are other people out there who share similar feelings about the woman they love. Surely I am not alone in this. Except in one way: I pray I, alone, will be the one to forever hold her with my eyes and my arms, all of the rest of my life.
It is not as though these old eyes have not seen deer before and yet every time I experience the closeness of nature and see its incredible beauty, I am struck with awe and thanks that such amazing creatures are on this earth and that I have been blessed with the opportunity to be near them.
I feel the same away about the woman I love. It does not matter how many days we've had together or all that we have shared or been through, I behold her anew each time I see her and am I struck awe and humbled greatly by her total beauty — interior and exterior. And I consider myself the most blessed man to have eyes that see and that my eyes get to see her. To hold her with my eyes is the greatest blessing bestowed on any man. She is the sight that lifts my spirits, enlivens my heart, brings light to my days. I rise each and every day with the hope that she is the first thing and person I will see. And I pray each night that she will be the last thing and person I see, and the only person I will ever touch.
I know that all of this sounds horribly hokey and syrupy. But it also is what my heart feels just knowing she is alive, in this world and a part of my life. Surely there are other people out there who share similar feelings about the woman they love. Surely I am not alone in this. Except in one way: I pray I, alone, will be the one to forever hold her with my eyes and my arms, all of the rest of my life.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
A PRECIOUS GIFT
One of the most difficult things anyone can do is open themselves up to another person and be completely vulnerable. Most of us design elaborate emotional defenses to prevent this very thing from happening, defenses we have built and designed since childhood as a bulwark against the very first hurts we endured and all of those that have come since. For a person to lower those defenses, open their heart and mind to another and allow them entrance into their innermost thoughts, fears, worries, shortcomings, anxieties and injuries is often too scary.
Some men think, however, that women do this easily. That is because women often will share with another woman some thoughts, ideas, emotions, issues she would not share with a man. That's natural since, as women, they often have endured many of the same physical and emotional changes and demands and, if nothing else, have a common problem: us. Let's face it, most of us men have not shown interest in what goes on in the hearts and heads of women. Oh, some of us will feign interest in order to date, bed, wed a woman. But few, if any, males maintain a real interest in what a woman thinks, wants, knows, has lived through.
But they should. Because women are incredibly complex, deep, multi-faceted people with so much to tell us; things we should know about them, about how they see the world and how they see us.
That doesn't mean you find a woman, sit her down and just let her talk. That isn't how it works. She may want you to listen and ask questions based on what you hear, proving to her you truly are paying attention. Or she may prefer that you let her decide how much she wants you to know, so you must listen well. She'll know you were listening when you talk to her later about something she said.
Even if you do those things, however, it will take patience, kindness, gentleness, love, trust and an emotional bond to get her to open up her heart and the deepest of her thoughts and secrets to you. But show her patience, kindness, gentleness and love -- form that unbreakable emotional bond and trust -- and what she shares with you will be her most vulnerable self. This is a most precious gift, the greatest honor a woman can bestow on a man. Treasure it like the pearl of great price that it is. You will never, in all of your life, be given anything more valuable.
Some men think, however, that women do this easily. That is because women often will share with another woman some thoughts, ideas, emotions, issues she would not share with a man. That's natural since, as women, they often have endured many of the same physical and emotional changes and demands and, if nothing else, have a common problem: us. Let's face it, most of us men have not shown interest in what goes on in the hearts and heads of women. Oh, some of us will feign interest in order to date, bed, wed a woman. But few, if any, males maintain a real interest in what a woman thinks, wants, knows, has lived through.
But they should. Because women are incredibly complex, deep, multi-faceted people with so much to tell us; things we should know about them, about how they see the world and how they see us.
That doesn't mean you find a woman, sit her down and just let her talk. That isn't how it works. She may want you to listen and ask questions based on what you hear, proving to her you truly are paying attention. Or she may prefer that you let her decide how much she wants you to know, so you must listen well. She'll know you were listening when you talk to her later about something she said.
Even if you do those things, however, it will take patience, kindness, gentleness, love, trust and an emotional bond to get her to open up her heart and the deepest of her thoughts and secrets to you. But show her patience, kindness, gentleness and love -- form that unbreakable emotional bond and trust -- and what she shares with you will be her most vulnerable self. This is a most precious gift, the greatest honor a woman can bestow on a man. Treasure it like the pearl of great price that it is. You will never, in all of your life, be given anything more valuable.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
AN UNWANTED GIFT
You have a talent, a gift. It starts out raw, a little rough, but you work at it, polish it and hone it. In time you get pretty good at what you do. You're not the best in your chosen field but you aren't the worst either. You're average, but average, at least, is okay. Sure, you'd like to be the best, the very best, but your talent just doesn't reach that far. You've come to live with your averageness, to accept it as a fact. That never stops you from trying, from striving, from working hard. So sometimes you've had flashes of a little brilliance, a little shine, a little bit of what the best have every day.
Time, though, has a funny way of working against you. While you were honing your skills, trying to make the most of your average talent, the world was deciding it didn't need your kind. Heck, it didn't need people who knew what they were doing. It just wanted something fast, sloppy or not. Just fast. It didn't want to pay at all, let alone pay for quality. Just get it to me fast. And faster. And faster yet. Anyone who can get it to me fast is in. It doesn't matter if it is right, or good, or of decent quality. Just get it to me fast, and cheaply.
Suddenly all of that work you put into getting better, getting the most out of your talent, works against you. Your experience works against you. Because the world doesn't want to pay for talent or experience. The world doesn't want to pay at all. The world wants it free and fast. And to heck with it being good, right or of decent quality.
Where does this leave you? Among the great unwashed unwanted, on a list of people society no longer needs and surely doesn't want. You have no value in today's marketplace. Not because you can't do fast, but because you don't do sloppy or wrong. Not because you can't do it, but because you have done it for too long and no one wants to pay for your experience or even your average talents.
Why hire you when some kid off the street will do it for nothing? Why pay for you when they can get it for free? So what if the product isn't worth even that price? Heck, it didn't cost me anything, so why should I, the customer, care?
You never saw this coming because you grew up in a time when quality mattered and people made fun of the cheap, poorly made products from overseas lands. You were formed at a time when if you had a job to do, you did it well, gave it your very best. You came from a time when quality was more important than speed. Yes, if you could do quality quickly, you were more valuable, but quality got first dibs.
That is not the world we live in anymore. And that is a world where you are not wanted anymore. You're an anachronism, a dinosaur, a lost man from another world, another dimension.
And no one wants what you do anymore.
Time, though, has a funny way of working against you. While you were honing your skills, trying to make the most of your average talent, the world was deciding it didn't need your kind. Heck, it didn't need people who knew what they were doing. It just wanted something fast, sloppy or not. Just fast. It didn't want to pay at all, let alone pay for quality. Just get it to me fast. And faster. And faster yet. Anyone who can get it to me fast is in. It doesn't matter if it is right, or good, or of decent quality. Just get it to me fast, and cheaply.
Suddenly all of that work you put into getting better, getting the most out of your talent, works against you. Your experience works against you. Because the world doesn't want to pay for talent or experience. The world doesn't want to pay at all. The world wants it free and fast. And to heck with it being good, right or of decent quality.
Where does this leave you? Among the great unwashed unwanted, on a list of people society no longer needs and surely doesn't want. You have no value in today's marketplace. Not because you can't do fast, but because you don't do sloppy or wrong. Not because you can't do it, but because you have done it for too long and no one wants to pay for your experience or even your average talents.
Why hire you when some kid off the street will do it for nothing? Why pay for you when they can get it for free? So what if the product isn't worth even that price? Heck, it didn't cost me anything, so why should I, the customer, care?
You never saw this coming because you grew up in a time when quality mattered and people made fun of the cheap, poorly made products from overseas lands. You were formed at a time when if you had a job to do, you did it well, gave it your very best. You came from a time when quality was more important than speed. Yes, if you could do quality quickly, you were more valuable, but quality got first dibs.
That is not the world we live in anymore. And that is a world where you are not wanted anymore. You're an anachronism, a dinosaur, a lost man from another world, another dimension.
And no one wants what you do anymore.
Friday, June 10, 2011
ON TRUST
George Carlin once told a joke that went something like this: "Whenever you brake your car, your life is in your foot's hands." Like most Carlin jokes, he used language and its quirks and cliches to make us think. Technically, of course, he was right. When braking your car, you put all of your trust in your foot, and the brake pedal, linkage, brake lines, brake fluid, brake pads, brake discs and other parts of the car's braking system.
You are trusting a thing with your life.
I get that. Really I do. I trust my truck with my life every day. I ride a bicycle and I trust in it, my helmet and my instincts and experience to make sure I return in one piece. And I have been let down. A flat tire recently ended a ride just minutes after it started. And my truck recently failed to start, resulting in a big inconvenience and an expensive repair and tow bill. And I just had to take my bike into the shop because, well, some components had worn out and no longer were working properly. No longer could I trust them.
So why is it so much easier to trust things than it is to trust people? Do people let us down so much more than things do? Or is it just, like my bike, easier to understand and explain why a thing fails us but not people?
Not that I have not trusted people in the past. But when they let me down, when they betray that trust, I vow to never let that happen again. When I asked a girl out on a date and she literally sneered at me in disgust at the very idea of me having the nerve to even broach the subject, don't think I ever did that again. At least not with her. And when I told some personal worries or concerns to a co-worker only to find she'd let them be known to nearly everyone else, I didn't do that again either. I have grown to live by the Irish saying: "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." And I was not about to get fooled again, to paraphrase The Who.
But I still trust my truck, now that the starter has been repaired. And I got back on my bike, after repairing the flat tire. And I will get on it again, once these new repairs have been made. I will trust it, along with my helmet and all of the rest, with my very life. And yet I find it so very difficult to trust another person not with my life even, but just a small portion of who I am, what I am like, what I think, what I know, what makes up me.
It is so easy to build walls against the forays of others, against the attempts by people we know -- not complete strangers, but possible friends, lovers even -- to get inside and get closer. Because at one time or another, we let down our defenses, lowered the drawbridge, opened the gates and let people in, and they trashed the place. We've since cleaned up their mess, but we're not going to do that again.
And if we don't, we'll be safe. Removed, reserved, distant, cold, aloof, mysterious, quiet, unfriendly, but safe.
But if we can bring ourselves to trust a person again, as we come to trust a repaired vehicle, a fixed faucet, a contrite computer, we may just find something we've been missing for all of our lives, something far more precious than anything we've been working so hard to protect.
We might just find love. And not just any love, but the love of a lifetime. The soulmate. The only person put on earth just for us, and us just for them.
But first, we have to trust. Again.
You are trusting a thing with your life.
I get that. Really I do. I trust my truck with my life every day. I ride a bicycle and I trust in it, my helmet and my instincts and experience to make sure I return in one piece. And I have been let down. A flat tire recently ended a ride just minutes after it started. And my truck recently failed to start, resulting in a big inconvenience and an expensive repair and tow bill. And I just had to take my bike into the shop because, well, some components had worn out and no longer were working properly. No longer could I trust them.
So why is it so much easier to trust things than it is to trust people? Do people let us down so much more than things do? Or is it just, like my bike, easier to understand and explain why a thing fails us but not people?
Not that I have not trusted people in the past. But when they let me down, when they betray that trust, I vow to never let that happen again. When I asked a girl out on a date and she literally sneered at me in disgust at the very idea of me having the nerve to even broach the subject, don't think I ever did that again. At least not with her. And when I told some personal worries or concerns to a co-worker only to find she'd let them be known to nearly everyone else, I didn't do that again either. I have grown to live by the Irish saying: "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." And I was not about to get fooled again, to paraphrase The Who.
But I still trust my truck, now that the starter has been repaired. And I got back on my bike, after repairing the flat tire. And I will get on it again, once these new repairs have been made. I will trust it, along with my helmet and all of the rest, with my very life. And yet I find it so very difficult to trust another person not with my life even, but just a small portion of who I am, what I am like, what I think, what I know, what makes up me.
It is so easy to build walls against the forays of others, against the attempts by people we know -- not complete strangers, but possible friends, lovers even -- to get inside and get closer. Because at one time or another, we let down our defenses, lowered the drawbridge, opened the gates and let people in, and they trashed the place. We've since cleaned up their mess, but we're not going to do that again.
And if we don't, we'll be safe. Removed, reserved, distant, cold, aloof, mysterious, quiet, unfriendly, but safe.
But if we can bring ourselves to trust a person again, as we come to trust a repaired vehicle, a fixed faucet, a contrite computer, we may just find something we've been missing for all of our lives, something far more precious than anything we've been working so hard to protect.
We might just find love. And not just any love, but the love of a lifetime. The soulmate. The only person put on earth just for us, and us just for them.
But first, we have to trust. Again.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
TIME'S LESSONS
Time has a way of teaching us perspective. The longer we live, the better we appreciate time's passage and its significance. And the closer I edge toward the end of my life, the more I appreciate and cherish the time I have with those I love.
At the same time, however, time also has taught me to be willing to wait for the best things in life and to never hurry through the great moments and experiences I get to have and to share. Time shows me that savoring these experiences when they happen helps me to retain the memories more vividly than when I let everything rush past me. Waiting and delaying gratification is part of this, helping to make the experience and the memories more vivid.
But that sometimes leaves me in a quandary. I know better than to push it, to rush things, to force something to happen, no matter how badly I want it (and I want it now!). Anything worthwhile, especially something like love, is worth whatever I have to wait. But at the same time, I know my days are numbered and the number grows smaller with each passing day, so I want to have as much time as possible with the one I love. How can I deal with these two opposing forces?
With silence. With peace. With prayer. With trust.
If I give up control to a higher authority, to the Creator, then I put all of my trust in Him, in His plan, in His will for me. If I allow Him to guide me by listening to His voice speaking to me -- through instinct, through gut feelings, through that inner voice -- then I will know when to run, and when to wait, when to act and when to react, when to be patient and when to make something happen.
This sounds easy, but it is not, certainly not for someone who has waited so very long for the right person to finally come along. I often feel as though I already have paid the price of admission, as it were, and cannot understand why I now must wait in this waiting room, biding my time for what I already know I want more than anything else in this life, or the next. And it can be difficult to still my mind, heart and soul, to block the aching of the heart and the longing of the soul for the love I know is out there, waiting for me, just so I can hear His voice speaking to me.
But, if I want the relationship to last and to be right and to be the way I ultimately want it to be, then I must do these things, must listen to Him speaking to me in the silences and recognize what He wants me to do. And I must be willing to let time pass, if necessary, and wait a little longer to be with the one I love for the rest of my, and our, lives.
At the same time, however, time also has taught me to be willing to wait for the best things in life and to never hurry through the great moments and experiences I get to have and to share. Time shows me that savoring these experiences when they happen helps me to retain the memories more vividly than when I let everything rush past me. Waiting and delaying gratification is part of this, helping to make the experience and the memories more vivid.
But that sometimes leaves me in a quandary. I know better than to push it, to rush things, to force something to happen, no matter how badly I want it (and I want it now!). Anything worthwhile, especially something like love, is worth whatever I have to wait. But at the same time, I know my days are numbered and the number grows smaller with each passing day, so I want to have as much time as possible with the one I love. How can I deal with these two opposing forces?
With silence. With peace. With prayer. With trust.
If I give up control to a higher authority, to the Creator, then I put all of my trust in Him, in His plan, in His will for me. If I allow Him to guide me by listening to His voice speaking to me -- through instinct, through gut feelings, through that inner voice -- then I will know when to run, and when to wait, when to act and when to react, when to be patient and when to make something happen.
This sounds easy, but it is not, certainly not for someone who has waited so very long for the right person to finally come along. I often feel as though I already have paid the price of admission, as it were, and cannot understand why I now must wait in this waiting room, biding my time for what I already know I want more than anything else in this life, or the next. And it can be difficult to still my mind, heart and soul, to block the aching of the heart and the longing of the soul for the love I know is out there, waiting for me, just so I can hear His voice speaking to me.
But, if I want the relationship to last and to be right and to be the way I ultimately want it to be, then I must do these things, must listen to Him speaking to me in the silences and recognize what He wants me to do. And I must be willing to let time pass, if necessary, and wait a little longer to be with the one I love for the rest of my, and our, lives.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
THE TIME IS ALWAYS RIGHT
I have never been one to make a lot of plans for my life. Even though experience has taught me that making solid-concrete plans is folly, it was not a lesson I really needed to learn. I was not someone who lived by plans anyway. In fact, I often chuckled to myself at the extravagant and detailed plans some people made for themselves.
Instead, I have learned it is best to be flexible and ready for whatever life throws at you.
Like love.
Love, unlike some of the other gifts from the Creator, does not come to only the young, or the fit, or the intellectual, or the wise. Everyone gets their dose of love and their chance at love. Some recognize the gift when it arrives and cherish it while others, being either foolish or simply too naive, squander and/or abuse the gift until it is lost forever. Sometimes the recipient is too young -- emotionally, that is -- to recognize the importance and oneness of love. They think they can and will find love lurking around each and every corner. So they don't cherish the preciousness of love when they have it. And they live the remainder of their lives trying to find what they once had and can never have again.
By the same token, those older and wiser sometimes spurn love because they believe they are too old to love, or too old for love. Love is only for the young, they assume.
But love comes when the time is right. It is never too early and never too late. It is always right on time. Whether it arrives to a head full and thick with hair or one balding, whether it lands on a fresh heart aching to love or one that has beaten quicker before, it is on time and on schedule. It may not be convenient, or be what we had in mind for this time in our life, it doesn't matter. What matters is being open to love, to being loved and to loving another with all that we have, no matter if there are mere days, years or decades left to live.
Cherish the gift of love. Cherish the one you love. Cherish the love you share. Most of all, cherish the chance to love by opening your heart, mind, body and soul to another so that when the final bell does ring, you can say to yourself, "I may not have accomplished much in my time on earth, but for a while I loved someone with all that I am and all that I have. And that made my life worthwhile."
Instead, I have learned it is best to be flexible and ready for whatever life throws at you.
Like love.
Love, unlike some of the other gifts from the Creator, does not come to only the young, or the fit, or the intellectual, or the wise. Everyone gets their dose of love and their chance at love. Some recognize the gift when it arrives and cherish it while others, being either foolish or simply too naive, squander and/or abuse the gift until it is lost forever. Sometimes the recipient is too young -- emotionally, that is -- to recognize the importance and oneness of love. They think they can and will find love lurking around each and every corner. So they don't cherish the preciousness of love when they have it. And they live the remainder of their lives trying to find what they once had and can never have again.
By the same token, those older and wiser sometimes spurn love because they believe they are too old to love, or too old for love. Love is only for the young, they assume.
But love comes when the time is right. It is never too early and never too late. It is always right on time. Whether it arrives to a head full and thick with hair or one balding, whether it lands on a fresh heart aching to love or one that has beaten quicker before, it is on time and on schedule. It may not be convenient, or be what we had in mind for this time in our life, it doesn't matter. What matters is being open to love, to being loved and to loving another with all that we have, no matter if there are mere days, years or decades left to live.
Cherish the gift of love. Cherish the one you love. Cherish the love you share. Most of all, cherish the chance to love by opening your heart, mind, body and soul to another so that when the final bell does ring, you can say to yourself, "I may not have accomplished much in my time on earth, but for a while I loved someone with all that I am and all that I have. And that made my life worthwhile."
Monday, June 6, 2011
ON SEPARATION
When you truly love someone, the smallest gesture can hold great meaning. Just seeing the one you love after a long separation becomes akin to a papal audience. Not that she will act as if she is the pope, mind you, just that the chance once again to be with the one you love holds that kind of significance. And while no two people who love each other want to be separated, being apart is part of life. If you love her and respect her then you want what is best for her. And sometimes what is best for her -- heart, mind, soul and body -- is to do what she needs to do. For her health. For her sanity. For her mind and soul.
And is there any sweeter moment than the reuniting after such a separation? Can any other time compare with the second you see your love again? Does not your heart race at the sight of her, pound out of your chest as she draws near, and nearly explode when, once again, you can look into her eyes and hear her voice?
The heart, however, speaks in a language all of its own at such times, a language the tongue never will master. The heart can tell her what she means to you, how much you have missed her and how good it is to see her once again. But the words to convey such feelings elude the mouth. You will never be able to tell her with words what can best be told with a look, a touch, a kiss, a caress. So don't turn to words. Let her see, feel and sense just how much you love her and have missed her.
If you must speak at all, tell her that you love her and it is because of how much you love her that you know there are times when you must be parted. But that, in your heart, you never want her to be away from you, nor you from her.
I can't say if a woman wants to hear such things, but I do know my heart and mind want to speak them when I see my love again after any and every separation.
And is there any sweeter moment than the reuniting after such a separation? Can any other time compare with the second you see your love again? Does not your heart race at the sight of her, pound out of your chest as she draws near, and nearly explode when, once again, you can look into her eyes and hear her voice?
The heart, however, speaks in a language all of its own at such times, a language the tongue never will master. The heart can tell her what she means to you, how much you have missed her and how good it is to see her once again. But the words to convey such feelings elude the mouth. You will never be able to tell her with words what can best be told with a look, a touch, a kiss, a caress. So don't turn to words. Let her see, feel and sense just how much you love her and have missed her.
If you must speak at all, tell her that you love her and it is because of how much you love her that you know there are times when you must be parted. But that, in your heart, you never want her to be away from you, nor you from her.
I can't say if a woman wants to hear such things, but I do know my heart and mind want to speak them when I see my love again after any and every separation.
Friday, June 3, 2011
ABOUT WOMEN ....
My rototiller failed me at the most inopportune time -- just when I had rows upon rows of seedlings to plant and a garden that needed to be prepared for them. I took the balky, aged tiller to the local repair shop in the hope it can be coaxed into working again so I can plant my garden. As I waited for a service technician, two older men, working men more accustomed to outdoor labor than indoor education, began to speak about the spring's damp and often disastrous weather. Normally I would dismiss this as so much small talk, but one of them spoke with a depth of knowledge and understanding that belied his outward appearance. Clearly, he grasped much of what was causing the odd and inclement weather far better than many meteorologists. I was impressed and I learned much from him while waiting my turn in line.
Among the things that bother me are people who speak or write about what they do not know. They preach about politics, or sports, or education, or any topic without so much as a fundamental understanding of it. Unless you have inside knowledge or a sources you trust inside the government, then don't speak about what's going on there as if you have wisdom others should bow to. Unless you are inside the lockerroom and know what is happening with the players on a team, then don't write about what is wrong with the chemistry of a team. If you have no children in school, do not teach, are not connected with a school system or the challenges of education today, then don't pretend to understand what, if anything, is wrong with our educational system today and what needs to be done to fix it.
In simple terms, don't pretend to be an expert in something if, clearly, you are not.
So what gives me the right, I ask myself, to speak about women?
Nothing.
Nothing but a sincere belief that, in a male-dominated society women so often get the short end, so often are dismissed as frivolous or simple, or are ignored, or are not given the respect and admiration they are due. We men often say women are our "better half" but we seldom act that way. We call them "the little woman" in a nice but derogatory way. We tend to see women in parts -- body parts more often than not -- rather than see and accept each woman as a full and complete person, with personalities, ideas, thoughts, dreams, desires, wants, needs, facets, levels and depth we men too often ignore. And we often fail to see that women truly are the better half of us, of society, that women are amazing creatures who make this life and this world better simply by being in it.
Women are not perfect, but they are far closer to perfection than we men will ever be. Instead of recognizing and admiring that, we tend to be jealous of it or refuse to recognize it at all. And that is a shame. The reality of it often makes me ashamed to be a male.
I will never know what it is like to be a woman in this world. I will never be able to speak with authority about womanhood. But I can speak from a man's point of view about what women mean to me and what I think is wrong with how we men speak of and treat the women in our lives and in this world. And if that gets me thrown out of the macho-only club, then so be it. I never really wanted to be a member anyway.
Give me the company of a woman any day. I will be a better man for it.
Among the things that bother me are people who speak or write about what they do not know. They preach about politics, or sports, or education, or any topic without so much as a fundamental understanding of it. Unless you have inside knowledge or a sources you trust inside the government, then don't speak about what's going on there as if you have wisdom others should bow to. Unless you are inside the lockerroom and know what is happening with the players on a team, then don't write about what is wrong with the chemistry of a team. If you have no children in school, do not teach, are not connected with a school system or the challenges of education today, then don't pretend to understand what, if anything, is wrong with our educational system today and what needs to be done to fix it.
In simple terms, don't pretend to be an expert in something if, clearly, you are not.
So what gives me the right, I ask myself, to speak about women?
Nothing.
Nothing but a sincere belief that, in a male-dominated society women so often get the short end, so often are dismissed as frivolous or simple, or are ignored, or are not given the respect and admiration they are due. We men often say women are our "better half" but we seldom act that way. We call them "the little woman" in a nice but derogatory way. We tend to see women in parts -- body parts more often than not -- rather than see and accept each woman as a full and complete person, with personalities, ideas, thoughts, dreams, desires, wants, needs, facets, levels and depth we men too often ignore. And we often fail to see that women truly are the better half of us, of society, that women are amazing creatures who make this life and this world better simply by being in it.
Women are not perfect, but they are far closer to perfection than we men will ever be. Instead of recognizing and admiring that, we tend to be jealous of it or refuse to recognize it at all. And that is a shame. The reality of it often makes me ashamed to be a male.
I will never know what it is like to be a woman in this world. I will never be able to speak with authority about womanhood. But I can speak from a man's point of view about what women mean to me and what I think is wrong with how we men speak of and treat the women in our lives and in this world. And if that gets me thrown out of the macho-only club, then so be it. I never really wanted to be a member anyway.
Give me the company of a woman any day. I will be a better man for it.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
A PREDICTABLE LIFE
In every life there comes a time when you feel you are standing on the top of a mountain, looking down on a plain below. And that plain stretches out to the horizon and beyond, as far as your eyes will ever see. Life, from that point on, will be predictable and consistent. There may be some small highs and lows, but for the most part it will go on and on, for the rest of the your life, in a predictable, unchanging way. Sure there will be changes, small changes, but nothing horribly or terribly dramatic. People in your life today will grow old and some will die. Things in your life today will get used up and discarded and replaced. But your life, your lifestyle, essentially will never change. Once you have reached the top of that mountain you've been climbing -- the peak could be a career pinnacle, or finally marrying the woman of your dreams, having the family you always wanted, finally completing a marathon, etc. -- there is nothing left but the flat, uninspiring plain below.
And you know it. In your heart and mind, you know it.
For some people, that is reassuring. They like knowing life will be predictable and consistent for the rest of their days. For others, though, the thought of a life so predictable, so laid out in front of them, is suffocating, depressing and more frightening than any change life might throw their way. They want the challenges and difficulties ahead to be more than just the occasional worn-out washer and dryer, or a truck that finally gives up the ghost and no longer will start, or a pet that dies of old age. They want life to have some excitement, some trials and tribulations, some peaks and valleys along their route. And they don't want to be able to see their future laid out in front of them, with no chance to turn off and discover something new in themselves, in others, in the world they inhabit.
And if the chance arrives for them to jump off this flattened path, to choose a different road, one filled with mountains and valleys and hills and curves, they will gladly take it. They don't want to know everything that lies ahead, they embrace the unknown and the unexpected.
For if that chance does not arrive, or that road turns out to be a dead end and they must turn back, there is no life for them on that plain, on that flat, even road from here to their death. That is no life at all, but mere existence for existence's sake. And who among us wants to reach old age just to prove he/she can do it? Where is the fun in that?
So, from where you stand today, what do you see ahead? More mountains to climb and valleys to explore, or mile after flat and boring mile of plain?
And you know it. In your heart and mind, you know it.
For some people, that is reassuring. They like knowing life will be predictable and consistent for the rest of their days. For others, though, the thought of a life so predictable, so laid out in front of them, is suffocating, depressing and more frightening than any change life might throw their way. They want the challenges and difficulties ahead to be more than just the occasional worn-out washer and dryer, or a truck that finally gives up the ghost and no longer will start, or a pet that dies of old age. They want life to have some excitement, some trials and tribulations, some peaks and valleys along their route. And they don't want to be able to see their future laid out in front of them, with no chance to turn off and discover something new in themselves, in others, in the world they inhabit.
And if the chance arrives for them to jump off this flattened path, to choose a different road, one filled with mountains and valleys and hills and curves, they will gladly take it. They don't want to know everything that lies ahead, they embrace the unknown and the unexpected.
For if that chance does not arrive, or that road turns out to be a dead end and they must turn back, there is no life for them on that plain, on that flat, even road from here to their death. That is no life at all, but mere existence for existence's sake. And who among us wants to reach old age just to prove he/she can do it? Where is the fun in that?
So, from where you stand today, what do you see ahead? More mountains to climb and valleys to explore, or mile after flat and boring mile of plain?
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