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?
Thursday, November 10, 2011
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.
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