So, I have this friend... let's call him "Jack". We were chatting recently and commiserating about our current (somewhat pathetic) love lives, about how hard it is to find someone that you "feel butterflies" for. (All together now: awww!)
I don't entirely understand how someone so attractive as Jack is still single. It puzzles me! He is smart, funny, artistic, kind-hearted, has lots of interests, and is very handsome (some might even say "hot"). Ladies, if you want, I will hook you up- just let me know and I will review your resume.
By his own admission, he has a couple of barriers in place: holding extremely high--um, possibly unrealistic-- standards and not letting people get in too close. I actually got super sad when he told me this because Jack's just one of those guys that I have a real soft spot in my heart for, and I want to see him happy and in love. I mean, if we've learned anything from LOST it is that love is the most important thing in life; it is what connects us all, the only thing worth living or dying for.
Back to the butterflies. I totally agree with Jack that without that special, magical chemistry between two people, that nervous, butterflies-in-the-belly feeling that someone special causes you to feel when you are around him/her, the Love Train just isn't going to leave the station. And it's not something that can be forced, faked, or manufactured. Call it chemistry, call it butterflies, call it crazy- but it is unmistakable. It can happen instantly or it can start as a tiny spark and develop over time, but for me... for Jack... for pretty much anyone with the freedom to choose who they will give their heart to, it just has to be there. Who is to say that something that starts out so magical, so unexpected, cannot grow into the kind of love that lasts a lifetime, the kind that is a verb and outlasts external beauty and internal hurts? Isn't this the kind of love that we long for, even if we fear we will never experience it?
It would be easier in the short-term to brush this off as nonsense and just decide that love like this doesn't really exist, that it's nothing more than lust, but I disagree. I think that is a cop-out, a defense mechanism that We Who Have Been Burned use to keep our wounded hearts safe from future damage. But this wall around our hearts only does us more harm than good, and closes us off to the opportunity for love-- beautiful, ridiculous, stunning love. Two-way street love. Redemptive love. Second-chance love. Rare, yes, maybe. But REAL.
Jack, my friend, please do keep your heart open. And let there be butterflies for us all.
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Friday, May 28, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Upon Re-Entry
It's been 3 days since returning from Kenya.
It doesn't matter how many times I go there, coming back is always the hardest part for me. Don't misunderstand; I love my country and am blessed and grateful for the many comforts and conveniences I enjoy here on a daily basis. Being a woman and not treated like property or a second-class citizen (not such a problem for me as a white woman, but definitely felt by black women in Africa-- and many other parts of the world)...having a hot shower, potable water, private above-ground toilet, a comfortable bed (with lots of fluffy pillows!) and clean satin sheets in a private room in my own home... no need for a mosquito net... animals as pets... abundance of food in every variety at a moment's notice... DirecTV, Anaheim Ducks season tickets, internet that is quick and efficient, power that stays on pretty much all the time, my own vehicle and yes even traffic on paved roads with observed traffic laws... so much more! But-
I miss the people. I miss the connection to each other, to God, to community. I miss the smiles and the laughter and the genuine curiosity. I miss dancing in church and I miss being waved at and greeted by total strangers, I miss having a posse of street kids who can't wait to hold my hand and laugh like it's the Best Day Ever, and I miss the freedom of smiling with my whole self and not being looked at like I am crazy for being so happy.
The people of Kenya are models of hospitality. So gracious, so giving, so generous. People who are thoughtful and truly desiring to make you feel at home and welcomed. I feel like a beloved part of the family, like a little white sistah in a huge African family. I wish I could have the same sense of value here. I know that my family cares about me, and loves me in their own quiet way. I also know my friends like my company. And I know that my job matters to someone. (Sure, most days any monkey could probably do what I do, but at least I don't fling my own feces.)
It usually takes me a couple of weeks before I feel "normal" again upon re-entry. I force myself to do the "normal" things and get back on track, back to my hamster-wheel schedule. I actively fight back the tears of loneliness and heartache, I bite my tongue to the point of bleeding in order to withhold judgment and self-righteousness when hearing people complain over the smallest things. I keep my fists to myself instead of unloading on rasicts and selfish pricks/prickettes who feel entitled to cause a fuss over stupid shit. I cry to God and apologize for falling short in so many areas, amazed that his grace and mercy is so far beyond my comprehension.
My biggest prayer is that my heart will not forget the lessons learned, and that I will find the capacity to extend love and compassion and friendliness to the people here... not just to the ones who make it so easy.
It doesn't matter how many times I go there, coming back is always the hardest part for me. Don't misunderstand; I love my country and am blessed and grateful for the many comforts and conveniences I enjoy here on a daily basis. Being a woman and not treated like property or a second-class citizen (not such a problem for me as a white woman, but definitely felt by black women in Africa-- and many other parts of the world)...having a hot shower, potable water, private above-ground toilet, a comfortable bed (with lots of fluffy pillows!) and clean satin sheets in a private room in my own home... no need for a mosquito net... animals as pets... abundance of food in every variety at a moment's notice... DirecTV, Anaheim Ducks season tickets, internet that is quick and efficient, power that stays on pretty much all the time, my own vehicle and yes even traffic on paved roads with observed traffic laws... so much more! But-
I miss the people. I miss the connection to each other, to God, to community. I miss the smiles and the laughter and the genuine curiosity. I miss dancing in church and I miss being waved at and greeted by total strangers, I miss having a posse of street kids who can't wait to hold my hand and laugh like it's the Best Day Ever, and I miss the freedom of smiling with my whole self and not being looked at like I am crazy for being so happy.
The people of Kenya are models of hospitality. So gracious, so giving, so generous. People who are thoughtful and truly desiring to make you feel at home and welcomed. I feel like a beloved part of the family, like a little white sistah in a huge African family. I wish I could have the same sense of value here. I know that my family cares about me, and loves me in their own quiet way. I also know my friends like my company. And I know that my job matters to someone. (Sure, most days any monkey could probably do what I do, but at least I don't fling my own feces.)
It usually takes me a couple of weeks before I feel "normal" again upon re-entry. I force myself to do the "normal" things and get back on track, back to my hamster-wheel schedule. I actively fight back the tears of loneliness and heartache, I bite my tongue to the point of bleeding in order to withhold judgment and self-righteousness when hearing people complain over the smallest things. I keep my fists to myself instead of unloading on rasicts and selfish pricks/prickettes who feel entitled to cause a fuss over stupid shit. I cry to God and apologize for falling short in so many areas, amazed that his grace and mercy is so far beyond my comprehension.
My biggest prayer is that my heart will not forget the lessons learned, and that I will find the capacity to extend love and compassion and friendliness to the people here... not just to the ones who make it so easy.
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