Irony

Why do I love the things that others hate?
I love driving in the rain.
I love sitting in silence with another person.
I love all the little things about you that you hate about yourself.

Quips

Yes, you did that.

Yes, that might happen.

Yes, this is happening, and that is what is important.

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Pain happens.

Disappointment is unavoidable.

Loss is assured.

Happiness is a choice.
Sadness is a choice.

Love is a choice.
Hate is a choice.

Make your choices.

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Breathe in.
Listen to the sounds around you.
Smell the air.
Run your fingers across your skin.
Smile.
You're alive.

Wishing to sleep... Fearing to dream...

I haven't been sleeping much lately, and I think it is because I have been dreaming every time I get a good night's sleep. That doesn't make much sense until the content of the dreams is explored. My dreams have been so vivid, engrossing, and enjoyable that I think I am scared that my mind will refuse to wake from them if I allow myself to dream. Let us examine my last dreaming experience as evidence of this.

Last... not exactly night. It was 4:30 before I actually fell asleep. During my last sleep cycle, I began dreaming, and while doing so, slept through the alarm I had set.

"What dream was it that was so enthralling that I refused to wake from it?" one might ask.

We lay on the sand. Not the sand of a beach mind you. There were no waves. There was no water. No, this was the dry sandy soil of a desert - Arizona I believe. By the deepness of the black surrounding us, I could feel that we were many miles from civilization. We were the only humans amongst the wilderness.

Looking up at the clear night's sky above us, I could see everything. I don't mean I could see all the stars. I mean that I could see everything. It was as if my eyes were more powerful than the Hubble telescope. The multitude of stars from our Milky Way Galaxy dimmed before the splendor I saw. I could see billions of galaxies in the depth of the night's sky. Looking on that sky, I truly understood how minuscule and ephemeral each and every human life is. The scale of the universe crashed down to the point where I realized that, to the universe, I was smaller than a single atom of my body is to me. If I were to suddenly vanish, who or what would miss me? What difference would it make?

... And then, as the bleakness seemed to reach its peak, you reached over and took my hand. In that moment, with you holding my hand, despite the understanding of how truly small I was, I felt like the most important thing in the cosmos. I was important because I was important to you. Somehow, of all the things in this vast existence, I was the one you wanted to be with, there, in the middle of the Arizona desert, and that was all that mattered.

Thus, my heart yearns to sleep again. It aches to feel that connectedness, that love, and begs my mind and body to follow it into slumber.

My mind remembers though. It remembers the feeling as I woke. The return of the loneliness as my hand moved across an otherwise empty bed. My mind remembers, and fears that feeling when I wake from another such dream.

Love

Once upon a time, I saw the world in a much different life.

As a child, the world was about what I could find. Each moment was about discovery. What was around the corner? What did this do? Why was the sky blue? In my innocence, I saw the world as a never-ending parade of questions and life was a search for answers.

But like all things, that innocence and childish wonder passed. A parade of questions became a parade of one question repeated in endless variations. "What can I get out of this situation?" "How can I manipulate this to benefit me?" "How can I get something from this person?" Life became about me. I became a manipulative narcissist - albeit one who was good at appearing altruistic. I looked at every situation as me versus the world. I had learned that the world was out to get me. I had been taught by life, society, and pain that I must fight against everyone and everything around me to get what I wanted from life. The sun seemed harshly bright; the wind bitterly cold. I no longer wondered why the sky was blue. I knew it was blue to keep me from seeing the stars. I should have realized that that too would pass, but in my cynicism, I did not realize that even I could be wrong.

Life changed as I felt love. Suddenly the questions were subtly different. No longer was I asking "How can I get something from this person." Now the word 'get' was anathema to me; it vanished from my vocabulary. Now I was asking what I could give to people. I was wondering how I could make myself better, and how I could make myself worthy of you. I was humbled by who and what you are, and it made me appreciate the hollow nature of my life. Now I truly know what love means. All love - be it Epithumia, Eros, Storge, Phile, or Agape - eschews taking. When love is involved, there is only giving, with no thought to recompense. Only when I realized this, did I truly start to live.

So thank you for teaching me of love. Though you may never read this, you may never understand how much you have taught me, I want it known that I love you for who and what you are, and as long as I have breath in my lungs I will show my gratitude by loving this world and all that live upon it. You have made me into the me that I was meant to be, and I can only repay you by spreading the true meaning of love and hoping that, like a spark falling upon dry tinder, it catches and spreads across this world like a raging fire. . . For as the song says, "What this world needs now is love, sweet love."

You

You are you. You were you. You are becoming the you that you are meant to be. You will never be anything more or less than you. You are exactly who the universe made you to be at this moment. Never worry that you aren't who you are supposed to be, because you can never be anything but who and what you are. Never pay heed to anyone who says you aren't enough for them, because it may be true. . . you may be too much for them. Wait for the person who can handle everything that you are. Handle your good. Handle your bad. The person who looks at you and, regardless of your current mood, says "That is the person I want to be with. That is the person who makes me. . . me."

They're the one who will make you the you that you were meant to be.

Harry Dresden on Pain

I take no credit for the following passage. It is from the book "White Night" by Jim Butcher. I was just rereading it, and this passage stuck out to me more than it did last time I read the book.

We still hadn’t learned, though, that growing up is all about getting hurt. And then getting over it. You hurt. You recover. You move on. Odds are pretty good that you’re just going to get hurt again. But each time you learn something.

Each time, you come out of it a little stronger, and at some point you realize that there are more flavors of pain than coffee. There’s the little empty pain of leaving something behind – graduating, taking the next step forward, walking out of something familiar and safe into the unknown. There’s the big, whirling pain of life upending all of your plans and expectations. There’s the sharp little pains of failure, and the more obscure aches of successes that didn’t give you what you thought they would. There are the vicious stabbing pains of hopes being torn up. The sweet little pains of finding others, giving them your love, and taking joy in their life as they grow and learn. There’s the steady pain of empathy that you shrug off so you can stand beside a wounded friend and help them bear their burdens.

And if you’re very, very lucky, there are a very few blazing hot little pains you feel when you realize that you are standing in a moment of utter perfection, an instant of triumph, or happiness, or mirth which at the same time cannot possibly last – and yet will remain with you for life.

Everyone is down on pain, because they forget something important about it: Pain is for the living. Only the dead don’t feel it.

Pain is a part of life. Sometimes it’s a big part, and sometimes it isn’t, but either way, it’s a part of the big puzzle, the deep music, the great game. Pain does two things: It teaches you, tells you that you’re alive. Then it passes away and leaves you changed. It leaves you wiser, sometimes. Sometimes it leaves you stronger. Either way, pain leaves its mark, and everything important that will ever happen to you in life is going to involve it in one degree or another.

Yeah, what he said.

Hopeless. . . Completely Hopeless

I've always been called a hopeless romantic. Normally I smile and nod. I'm a little more optimistic when it comes to love than most single guys my age would be, so I am used to the characterization.

But what does it mean to be a hopeless romantic? Does it mean that you believe that your soul mate will magically appear one day and your life will be sunshine and rainbows until the end of your days? Does it mean you believe in fairy tales and happily ever after?

No.

I don't expect some perfect love to fall out of the sky. I know that when it does happen it will be hard. It will take a hell of a lot of work. It will be rough. We'll fight. We'll say things that will end up hurting each other. We'll wonder how the hell we're going to get through it. We'll think "is this the right thing? Should I even try?"

But I also know that if it is the right thing and we do try, it will all be worth it in the end. It won't be perfect, but nobody and nothing is. I just know that somehow, in some way, it will all work out to be the best that I can make it. . . and that's all anyone can ask for.

So call me a hopeless romantic all you want. If being a hopeless romantic means that I believe that love, actual love, not lust, not the romantic perfection of movies and myths, but real love can pull people through anything. If it means that I don't want to just marry the first girl who shows interest in me. If it means that I am alone for a while until I truly find the right person. If it means all those things, then yes. Yes, I am a hopeless romantic and I gladly accept the title.