The television has been airing an ad for an online dating service for older people. At one point, a woman brightly tells us that it's never too late to find and fall in love.
Yeah, right, I think every time I hear her.
That's because age really has nothing to do with it. Love, however, does.
What I mean is it can be too late at 18, 25, 50 or 90. And it becomes too late when you've lost real love, true love, the love for which you were created.
Your love. Your soulmate.
If you lose them, then it doesn't matter what age you are, its game over. You're done. Oh, you might settle for someone else, thereby ruining their lives, or you might keep looking, hoping to find love again in someone else, but the effort is in vain. Because there truly is only one right love, only one soulmate for each of us. We know, if not right away then eventually, who that person is. And we might lose him or her for any of a number of stupid, bullheaded reasons. Then spend the rest of our lives regretting our choices and decisions and wishing, hoping, praying for a second chance.
If we get it, at least we'll know what is at stake and will be less likely to lose this one-perfect-person-for-us again.
Sometimes, though, the choice, the decision is out of our hands. Sometimes, the love of our lives rejects us for, well, reasons we aren't capable of grasping, or maybe for reasons that seem perfectly logical. But that is the real problem, isn't it? Life and love are not logical. So logic does not apply. Instead, we need to trust in our emotions and take the risk to love and be loved.
If, however, the one we love and were made to love does not want to take the risk, does not trust his or her emotions, then we could be forced to watch them leave, knowing full well that with them leaves our one and only chance to love the one we were made to love, to be with our soulmate, to have and keep that one right relationship for which we were born.
Then, for us, it doesn't matter what age we are. It is too late. Love has been here, and it is gone. Forever.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Friday, January 11, 2013
WORTHY OF LOVE?
A relationship expert recently spoke about love and how people feel about their worthiness:
“I hear it all the time; singles or married couples say they’re not rich enough, or they need to lose weight, or they just don’t think they’ll find what they want. But I say nothing is perfect, and if you think that you’ll only be good enough when you’ve lost five pounds, or have a nice car or a bigger house, then you will never be ‘good enough.’”
The same report cited a survey that found that all respondents -- singles as well as committed or married couples -- said they still believe in lasting love and if there was a way to learn to find true love, they would try it.
So there you have it: We all want love and believe in love, but few, or none, of us thinks we are worthy of it.
How sad for us.
Is it because we seek a certain perfection in our mate, especially our soulmate, that we do not find in ourselves? Or is it just because we have grown up with such low self-images, such low self-esteem that none of us feels worthy of this ultimate gift of love, most especially the love of a lifetime?
This is not a criticism, just the mental meanderings of a fellow seacher. For I, too, feel unworthy of love, even more so today than ever before. For nothing brings on the certainty of unworthiness quite like fresh rejection. When the one you love chooses another over you, what other conclusion can be reached? Obviously, they looked at you and found you wanting, unworthy, unacceptable. And, unlike others whom I sometime envy, I cannot so easily chalk this up to their "poor taste." Quite the contrary, life experience has taught me well that, much like that overused and laughable rejection line, "it's not you, it's me," seems to apply.
When she chooses someone who obviously does not respect, appreciate or understand her, who does not treat her well or tries, and most often succeeds, in controlling her rather than loving her, when she'd rather have him over someone who truly loves her, without condition or pride, then what possible conclusion can be reached? Clearly, you are not worthy. Certainly, not worthy of her.
The only real wonder here is that any of us, having suffered such rejection and perfectly cemented in our feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness, retains any belief in and hope for love. Why do we still cling to the belief love still is out there, waiting for us, around the next corner, over the coming hill? What gives us the belief, in the face of all this persistent rejection, that love still is worth it?
Because in our hearts, where the love really dwells, we know that finding that right person, the one who will love us as much as we love them, is worth whatever we have to endure. Besides, to surrender our hope for love is to give up on life itself. And that is a crime of self-hate most of us are incapable of.
No, despite the rejections, in spite of our own inner inadequacies, we have to hope love. And look for love. And pray for love. And, at least in my case, wait for love.
To return.
To reconsider.
To rejoin us.
To reject the other.
“I hear it all the time; singles or married couples say they’re not rich enough, or they need to lose weight, or they just don’t think they’ll find what they want. But I say nothing is perfect, and if you think that you’ll only be good enough when you’ve lost five pounds, or have a nice car or a bigger house, then you will never be ‘good enough.’”
The same report cited a survey that found that all respondents -- singles as well as committed or married couples -- said they still believe in lasting love and if there was a way to learn to find true love, they would try it.
So there you have it: We all want love and believe in love, but few, or none, of us thinks we are worthy of it.
How sad for us.
Is it because we seek a certain perfection in our mate, especially our soulmate, that we do not find in ourselves? Or is it just because we have grown up with such low self-images, such low self-esteem that none of us feels worthy of this ultimate gift of love, most especially the love of a lifetime?
This is not a criticism, just the mental meanderings of a fellow seacher. For I, too, feel unworthy of love, even more so today than ever before. For nothing brings on the certainty of unworthiness quite like fresh rejection. When the one you love chooses another over you, what other conclusion can be reached? Obviously, they looked at you and found you wanting, unworthy, unacceptable. And, unlike others whom I sometime envy, I cannot so easily chalk this up to their "poor taste." Quite the contrary, life experience has taught me well that, much like that overused and laughable rejection line, "it's not you, it's me," seems to apply.
When she chooses someone who obviously does not respect, appreciate or understand her, who does not treat her well or tries, and most often succeeds, in controlling her rather than loving her, when she'd rather have him over someone who truly loves her, without condition or pride, then what possible conclusion can be reached? Clearly, you are not worthy. Certainly, not worthy of her.
The only real wonder here is that any of us, having suffered such rejection and perfectly cemented in our feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness, retains any belief in and hope for love. Why do we still cling to the belief love still is out there, waiting for us, around the next corner, over the coming hill? What gives us the belief, in the face of all this persistent rejection, that love still is worth it?
Because in our hearts, where the love really dwells, we know that finding that right person, the one who will love us as much as we love them, is worth whatever we have to endure. Besides, to surrender our hope for love is to give up on life itself. And that is a crime of self-hate most of us are incapable of.
No, despite the rejections, in spite of our own inner inadequacies, we have to hope love. And look for love. And pray for love. And, at least in my case, wait for love.
To return.
To reconsider.
To rejoin us.
To reject the other.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
REACHING THE SUMMIT
I used to think of life as a hill I had to climb. The only goal was to reach the top. And the top was where the ultimate reward awaited.
So every day, to me, was another step toward the goal. The only thing was I never really thought about what that goal, that reward, might be. I'd never really sat still long enough to ask myself one vital question: What is the real point to life?
I was as misguided, in a way, as many mount climbers: I was climbing my hill "because it was there," without pondering what the point was in that.
If you've ever climbed hill, however, you often can't really tell you've reached the top until you hit that point where you realize you are already going down the other side. And I didn't realize I'd reached the summit of my hill until it was too late and I already was heading back down the other side.
Because it turns out the pinnacle of my hill, and, thus, my life, was to find the one I was born to love. Isn't that really the point to life? To find someone to love and then to love them with all of your heart? Doesn't everything else pale in comparison?
So while climbing my hill I find her and I do love her with all of my heart. And without knowing it, I reach the summit of my personal hill. Only I don't get to stay there. I don't get to plant a flag, take a photo and record for posterity this achievement. Because before I even realize it, I am not just heading down the other side, I am falling down it, getting bruised and battered along the way. Because she, without intending to, has pushed me down it by choosing not to stay, not to opt for love, but instead picks security and safety over the unknown realm of love.
After rolling back to the very bottom, to the depths of the deepest valley, I now must decide if I want to rescale this hill, climb my personal mountain again. Do I have the desire, the energy? Do I even have the time to reach the summit again? Or will I try, and fail, to reach love again? For that matter, is love even at the peak of my mountain anymore? Or would this be just another fruitless and vain effort to grab for something that is so far beyond my feeble reach, a mountain too high for me to ever scale?
I don't have the answer yet. I'm still in the valley, assessing my aches and bruises and looking up at a cloud-wrapped summit, wondering if this climb is worth it. Wondering if love is still waiting for me there.
So every day, to me, was another step toward the goal. The only thing was I never really thought about what that goal, that reward, might be. I'd never really sat still long enough to ask myself one vital question: What is the real point to life?
I was as misguided, in a way, as many mount climbers: I was climbing my hill "because it was there," without pondering what the point was in that.
If you've ever climbed hill, however, you often can't really tell you've reached the top until you hit that point where you realize you are already going down the other side. And I didn't realize I'd reached the summit of my hill until it was too late and I already was heading back down the other side.
Because it turns out the pinnacle of my hill, and, thus, my life, was to find the one I was born to love. Isn't that really the point to life? To find someone to love and then to love them with all of your heart? Doesn't everything else pale in comparison?
So while climbing my hill I find her and I do love her with all of my heart. And without knowing it, I reach the summit of my personal hill. Only I don't get to stay there. I don't get to plant a flag, take a photo and record for posterity this achievement. Because before I even realize it, I am not just heading down the other side, I am falling down it, getting bruised and battered along the way. Because she, without intending to, has pushed me down it by choosing not to stay, not to opt for love, but instead picks security and safety over the unknown realm of love.
After rolling back to the very bottom, to the depths of the deepest valley, I now must decide if I want to rescale this hill, climb my personal mountain again. Do I have the desire, the energy? Do I even have the time to reach the summit again? Or will I try, and fail, to reach love again? For that matter, is love even at the peak of my mountain anymore? Or would this be just another fruitless and vain effort to grab for something that is so far beyond my feeble reach, a mountain too high for me to ever scale?
I don't have the answer yet. I'm still in the valley, assessing my aches and bruises and looking up at a cloud-wrapped summit, wondering if this climb is worth it. Wondering if love is still waiting for me there.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
THE RIGHT MEASUREMENT
When I was younger, life was all about proving myself worthy.
Worthy as a son.
Worthy as a man.
Worthy as an employee.
Worthy as a person.
I pinned this "worth" on intangible things: a pat on the back, a hug, an award, a welcoming smile, a faster mile. Things that did not last and could not be captured.
Because they did not last, I was constantly striving for another, and another, and another, even though each one proved less fulfilling than the previous.
Still, I could not turn to more concrete achievements, such as money and items of outward wealth because they held no appeal to me. I knew, deep down, that they do not measure a person's merit or worth.
In time, with a wisdom that eluded me before, I realized only one thing could truly measure a person's worth, or at least was the lone measure of mine: love. Who I loved, how I loved them and whether and/or how they loved me in return.
And in that area I found myself unable to measure up. I found myself wanting: wanting to be better, wanting to love better, wanting to love more unconditionally, wanting to love more completely.
I applied myself to this shortcoming as I had others: I worked hard at it. Hard work, however, yielded no results. In fact, it seemed the harder I tried, the worse I was at this thing called love. Then, one day, a special, wonderful, amazing woman walked into my life. And suddenly love was not work, took no effort, was so easy I had to ask myself if this was even really happening. But no amount of pinching could change the fact that she was real and the love I felt for her was real.
Then, as quickly and easily as she and love had arrived, they both were gone. And I was left with the harsh reality that nothing I could muster -- not effort, not hard work, not determination -- could bring her or love back. They are gone and I have to live in their wake.
Knowing I loved and still love her the best I could.
Knowing I will love her for the rest of my life.
Knowing I will never love like that again.
Knowing I have loved at least this once in my life.
That is the only measurement that matters.
Worthy as a son.
Worthy as a man.
Worthy as an employee.
Worthy as a person.
I pinned this "worth" on intangible things: a pat on the back, a hug, an award, a welcoming smile, a faster mile. Things that did not last and could not be captured.
Because they did not last, I was constantly striving for another, and another, and another, even though each one proved less fulfilling than the previous.
Still, I could not turn to more concrete achievements, such as money and items of outward wealth because they held no appeal to me. I knew, deep down, that they do not measure a person's merit or worth.
In time, with a wisdom that eluded me before, I realized only one thing could truly measure a person's worth, or at least was the lone measure of mine: love. Who I loved, how I loved them and whether and/or how they loved me in return.
And in that area I found myself unable to measure up. I found myself wanting: wanting to be better, wanting to love better, wanting to love more unconditionally, wanting to love more completely.
I applied myself to this shortcoming as I had others: I worked hard at it. Hard work, however, yielded no results. In fact, it seemed the harder I tried, the worse I was at this thing called love. Then, one day, a special, wonderful, amazing woman walked into my life. And suddenly love was not work, took no effort, was so easy I had to ask myself if this was even really happening. But no amount of pinching could change the fact that she was real and the love I felt for her was real.
Then, as quickly and easily as she and love had arrived, they both were gone. And I was left with the harsh reality that nothing I could muster -- not effort, not hard work, not determination -- could bring her or love back. They are gone and I have to live in their wake.
Knowing I loved and still love her the best I could.
Knowing I will love her for the rest of my life.
Knowing I will never love like that again.
Knowing I have loved at least this once in my life.
That is the only measurement that matters.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
NO HAPPY NEW YEAR
As scientists tell us, time is relative.
But where they speak of it being relative to the speed of light -- the closer you get to the speed of light the slower time passes -- most of us know time is relative to the state of mind. When we are happy and truly enjoying time with someone, time simply flies past, like a speeding bullet. And when we are away from that someone, and enduring the drudgery of daily life alone, time moves achingly slowly, like molasses poured on a cold day.
As more and more time passes, too, each second, minute, hour, day, week, month, year grows increasingly insignificant, especially when spent away from the one we love. So that when a new year dawns, it comes more as a yawn than as a joyful opportunity. Instead of the new year bringing with it the chance for something great to come into life, for some changes, some improvements, some love, some romance, it only means another 365 days of more of the same, as time's passing slowly and surely grinds down all hope, all optimism, all dreams and leaves behind only the dust and grime of daily life.
That life must be endured, lived, completed, but without the dreams, hopes and sunny outlook that pushed away the obvious swirling gloom and despair that tried to overwhelm those younger days. Instead, without any chance at love, without any hope for the beloved, the darkness and grey skies blot out the sun and leave us, as it probably should, mired in the winter of our lives, with little to look forward to.
Especially the dawn of yet another new year.
But where they speak of it being relative to the speed of light -- the closer you get to the speed of light the slower time passes -- most of us know time is relative to the state of mind. When we are happy and truly enjoying time with someone, time simply flies past, like a speeding bullet. And when we are away from that someone, and enduring the drudgery of daily life alone, time moves achingly slowly, like molasses poured on a cold day.
As more and more time passes, too, each second, minute, hour, day, week, month, year grows increasingly insignificant, especially when spent away from the one we love. So that when a new year dawns, it comes more as a yawn than as a joyful opportunity. Instead of the new year bringing with it the chance for something great to come into life, for some changes, some improvements, some love, some romance, it only means another 365 days of more of the same, as time's passing slowly and surely grinds down all hope, all optimism, all dreams and leaves behind only the dust and grime of daily life.
That life must be endured, lived, completed, but without the dreams, hopes and sunny outlook that pushed away the obvious swirling gloom and despair that tried to overwhelm those younger days. Instead, without any chance at love, without any hope for the beloved, the darkness and grey skies blot out the sun and leave us, as it probably should, mired in the winter of our lives, with little to look forward to.
Especially the dawn of yet another new year.
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