Love and Chocolate. Valentines for my Connections.

I often wonder about love.

The concept can be used to describe so many different emotions.

In Spanish, there is a 'te quiero' and a 'te amo' way to say 'I love you'.  One for family & friends and the other for your sweetheart.  So, two kinds of love.

I think about people I love and how prismic my connections are.  No one connection is alike another.

Connection.

Love is really about connection.

Sometimes when I'm around my parents, I try to hang onto the moment in my mind, in my heart.  I say to myself, Be more present than present.  I wish I lived closer, saw them more.  I miss my family all the time, but most when I am around them.  The contradiction of missing them while being in their presence is often present.

My love, my connection to my siblings is acute.  Focused and intense.  I miss my siblings, but it is different from missing my parents.  I don't miss them any less, but I don't have the sense that I'm grasping at shadows when I'm around them.  I only feel excited and happy.

In the past few months, I've had a few folks close to me who've needed emergency care.  There is no better way to confirm if you do or do not feel connected to a person then having a surprise health emergency.

Unaware, you are caught in a moment of honesty.  

People I should feel connected to, such as my grandfather, I do not.  Shocking, I know (not as shocking if you know me).  He is in a terrible state of health, and I hope that he does not suffer.  However, I don't feel at all connected to him.  I am curious at to my heritage, but not enough to get the story from him on tape.  I don't feel agitation or grief at the chance of his passing.  I feel empathy for a difficult life.  I feel anticipation.  Anticipation?  Anticipation.

I've found I can be very connected to people I haven't seen in a long time.  I was lucky to grow up with a small, tight knit neighborhood.  My two best friends lived about mile from me (opposite directions) and one was an only child (read: I got to do lots of things with her family - vacations, sleepovers, you name it).  Many of my fondest memories are of popcorn and Fawlty Towers or the hiss as our snow-coated gloves dropped ice chunks onto the wood-stove in the kitchen, drinking hot cocoa, and reliving our best runs down the graveyard hill (what? you didn't sled in a graveyard?).  Who had the best run? That near hit of the stone on the left just coming to the bump, but rolling off just in time, and on a good day, the air you could get over that same bump.
           People get busy, we drift into other parts of our lives.  I don't see them much.  But I was surprised at how strong my reaction was to hearing of a scare for one of them.

Sometimes a scare can be a blessing when it is only a scare.  You can remember your love for that person.  You can remember your connection.

Another extended family member had emergency surgery this week (surprise brain tumor).  Again I was struck by how immediate and strong my reaction was to the news.  I felt panic.  After the surgery, being with that person in recovery, I felt relief wash over me in great strong waves.  Imagine that famous Japanese painting.  You know the one.  It was like that.  I felt so grateful.  Grateful that this person was part of my history.  Grateful that I was able to share another moment with them.

Social Media is amazing.  People post all kinds of sh!t that you would never say to people you barely know.  Sometimes I read very mushy postings about significant others (some people post like this every day).  How lucky for them!  But, I'm not sure I'm wired that way.

My connection to my partner has washed over the beach of my being.  The tide coming in, barely noticeable as it gains inches.  The sea crashing and crashing against my safe shore, gaining ground so slowly as to put me at ease.  One day I looked up and realized I was standing knee deep in surf, the white foam swirling about my chicken legs, sticking to my sunscreened skin.

I often fear that I don't have the capacity for love.  I mean, "real" love.  Movie love.  Book love. Burning love.  Take over everything in your life love.

But that's not love.  Burning so bright comes with too much weight.  Too much responsibility on that love to be your everything.

Love is mosaic-ed of little moments and pieces.  Love is the small marionette strings that run from your left big toe to their right hand as they cleaned the blood from your broken bone over the bathroom sink.  Love is the string that runs from your aching knee to your left hand to the ice pack to their forehead as you laugh together about Robert Palmer in a recovery room.  Love is the string that runs from my slow smile to that moment this morning; I'm remembering the breeze through my skirt as I biked downhill clutching the small moments from the morning before work.

Love is in the lotion your hands drink after drying and cracking from doing the dishes.  Love is in the chill on your face as you shovel the steps, dig out the car.  Love is walking into a house after a long hard day and it smells delicious.  Dinner is just coming to the table.  You eat together and are reminded of how lucky you are.

You know that moment you have when chocolate first hits your taste buds and they tingle so softly?  Or after a spicy meal and your lips burn just enough to make your more aware of them?Like that.

Another First Day of School

I've always been a weirdo.  It's cool, I come by it honestly.  And really, all the interesting people are weirdos.

But man, I hated grade school (standing in a snowy field on the brightest day with a migraine and no sunglasses hatred - you'll live, but it'll be excruciating).  It's really hard to be a weirdo in grade school.

At the end of 4th grade, one of my best friends moved away.  At the end of 5th, I was miserable, and at the end of 6th, I was desperate to get out.  So, with the help of my parish, my parents agreed to let me go to a private school 7th (and 8th) grade.

I remember the first day of 7th grade.  I had my packed lunch and was filled with happy anticipation to meet all new people and make lots of friends.  I was sad for summer to end, but I was ready for a new experience.

I mean, I kinda already knew what it would be like (it was still school, afterall), but not entirely. Would I make a ton of friends?  Would they like me???  Would I be able to keep all my stuff somewhere?  Would there be any cute boys?  Would I like my teachers?  What if I was the dumbest in the class?

Starting a new job is kinda like starting the first day of a new school.

An aside...
I'm lucky enough to have found a position that meets almost all of my hopes (!), but first day jitters will still be first day jitters.

A bit about the position I'm starting...
     - A mission that dovetails with my own personal moral compass!
     - People that seem super interesting and open
     - A chance to really learn both a new skill-set AND from colleagues

Unfortunately, I can't walk to work, but in the future, I may be able to bike to work, and that'd be pretty great.

I remember my first day of 7th grade well.  The day started when I met a certain red-headed nemesis. Upon walking in, she was holding court and announced, "Oh, I was hoping you were going to be someone else." (it did not much improve from there.).

BUT, I also met a bunch of amazing, funny, weird 8th graders.

In the end, I was victor, as I was voted Student Council President, she was unable to steal away my best friend (as if !), AND two of those amazing 8th graders I'm still good friends with today and they continue to enrich my life.

I'm convinced my new job will have no nemeses and a slew of 8th graders.  I'm not sure if that's because the organization is small, if it's because they are community focused, or if it's the draw of non-profit (translation: you will never be rich from this job, so you must really believe in the mission), but whatever the reason - I'm once again going to pack a lunch and bring a heaping helping of happy anticipation on my first day.

...in the off-chance you are in grade school or middle school and reading this - hold on!  It gets better in high school and it's a million times better in college.  The misfits are the ones who make life interesting.  Everyone will realize this when they are older and wish that they were friends with you.