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?
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