Is just to love and be loved in return

Every day Paul wakes me up with the three words all women want to hear Coffee is ready.

While I am waiting for the caffeine to kick in, my eyes still blurry with sleep, we start talking about whatever the day brings into mind.  It is easy, comfortable conversations about all that excite us, worry us and ultimately, form us.

We cheerily talk away the morning until the clock reminds us that there is work to be done. It is then that we feel a little resistance to leave each other on the wrong side of the door and all the unfinished topics still hot on the table.

By the time he comes home we share new ideas, starting new conversations. Alas, they aren't finished either. They get interrupted by supper time musings, bath time banter and familiar bed time giggles.

And so the unfinished discussions pile up like the dishes and washing of everyday life, but I am deeply grateful for them. I would rather have too much to talk about, than too little. I’d rather feel a tinge of sadness when he leaves, than a sigh of relief.

All the half conversations fill me with excitement for the next one...and the next...

It is after 11 years of constantly sharing that I am finally starting to understand a little about the true nature of love.

You see, I always thought looks mattered, talents mattered and for someone who isn't a daisy chained hippie like me, money might matter. I believed chemistry was love and heartache a sign of true romance. I was sadly mistaken...very sadly indeed. I found out that the infatuation swinging you from dizzy heights is not love and a crush can fade as easily as it appears.

The real kind of love is the one that not only lasts, but gets stronger as years go by.  It is the love you see when you watch a man with a halo of grey hair, feed his wife after she had a stroke. It is the warmth you feel when you watch a couple dancing, celebrating their 40^th wedding anniversary. It is simple, pure and very very true.

This kind of love is rooted in a deep appreciation for the unique beauty of your loved one. It is a strong soulful connection that makes generous acts of love and kindness inevitable. It is thinking less of self and more of the other, but mostly of us together.

Paul taught me about this kind of love.

No. He shows me.

Every day.

For this I am deeply grateful.

'Cos you're amazing

How dreary would life be if all of us were perfect little drones? I suspect it would be a flawless black and white world of precision and predictability. I don’t know anybody who would love that, perhaps except for a few fanatic German engineers.

It is for this reason that I believe that it is the quirks, those wonderfully unique eccentricities that make us colourful, attractive and ultimately lovable. The irony is, of course, that deep down I aspire to this boring perfection I publicly denounce. Why? Because society has subtly and very brusquely led us to believe that anything less than “perfect”, is not good enough.

Winners are lavished with praise. Runners up are losers. The beauty queen wears the crown. The rest are rejected. The smartest kid gets the A. The others have to worry about their future.We are bombarded relentlessly with the idea that we are ashamedly flawed, any time we don’t look like a cover girl, don’t earn like a rock star, and don’t cook like Jamie Oliver.

Then the unexpected happens. Society throws a spanner in the well-oiled works of zero-defect. It retraces it steps and promotes flawed self-acceptance in an attempt to compensate for the damage it caused by endorsing unobtainable ideals of perfection. Now I am confused. Must I be myself or must I be “perfect”? I can’t be both. 

So, I decide to look up the definition of perfection, just to make sure I know what exactly it is I am trying to attain. According to the Oxford advanced learner’s dictionary of current English, it means:  Complete, with everything you need.

Reading this I realise something I know, but constantly forget. I was BORN complete, with everything I need to enjoy this one miraculous life. It dawns on me that taking first place gets you a medal, but last place means you are in the race the longest.

Although it boosts the ego to win a medal, diploma, crown or title, they are only indicators of temporary achievement. They do not determine abstract concepts like perfection.

True perfection happens at the moment of birth, when life gives one of its countless breaths through the lungs of a little baby. Even if that baby’s body and mind are different than that of others, it is still complete, still has everything it needs.

All that is necessary is to remind that baby throughout her life of this one simple truth. She is perfect just the way she is.

LIVE STREAMING AUDIO

The voice in my head is as excitable as an ever alert sports commentator. I imagine her in the comfort of a soundproof booth announcing every random thing that pops into mind, peddling it as vital information.  I am her captured audience. I have no choice, but to hear an incoherent stream of ramblings invading my head.

I understand that I cannot escape hearing it. My question is: Why do I listen to it? Why do I take it so seriously, especially since the voice is such an inflexible fear driven task master?

Rarely does she compliment me or give me permission to take a break. Instead, I am pushed to do better, give more. The problem is that the disembodied voice is never satisfied. My efforts are met with criticism and displeasure to a point where I sometimes don’t even start a task, not because of fear of failure, but because of the immense backlash I will receive because of it.

The most disconcerting part is when another voice chimes in and they argue about the best course of action for my life. They completely ignore me as they enjoy their silly spat about my future. Once again, it reminds me of the sports commentators whose arrogant opinions become the fixation while the live game itself, is ignored.

My puzzlement lies in the origin of this live streaming audio.  Who am I that I can distance myself from these fear driven voices, yet sheepishly still take their direction?

In an attempt to free myself of the incessant chatter, I have turned my attention to the game itself. I realised that when I fully immerse myself in the enjoyment of play, I become one with the flow and the action. I become Present. In this moment there is no space or use for commentary.

Think of kids blowing and chasing bubbles. They are not concerned about whether they have dirty knees, or laugh too loudly. They are in complete joy, unfettered by the naysaying inner voice.
Once the commentators are muted, I am surprised to hear the quiet. It is a powerful silence; a vast universe in slow motion; a peace of mind. It is a space where my real voice sounds a lot like Love.