I am a loving and caring man.
I look for the good in people.
I love it when others succeed.
I celebrate the successes of other folks.
I desperately want all people to have the best emotional, spiritual and physical life possible.
I want people to laugh.
I want people to have a sense of security in their living.
I am a pretty decent and kind guy.
Then I have to go outside.
At least a solid 85% of the time I totally dig others and am thoughtful and loving. Ok, maybe like 80% of the time. (“76% of the time”, my conscience whispers…
To which I say “No one likes a know it all, Conscience!”)
If there was technology that would map the route my brain takes when traveling from loving-kindness and compassion to baffled frustration and judgment, it would be a surprisingly quick trip.
Start at loving kindness and compassion.
Take three steps.
Step in dog poop.
You have arrived at “Everyone Is Stupid and Annoying And Dumb, Except Me”.
My deep kindness and loving ways fall apart when other actual living and breathing humans are around. I am so good at caring for all people, until people show up. People ruin my unconditional love for people.
I had a tremendous reprieve from this pattern recently. The reprieve lasted a full two weeks. The path I often take was re-routed. The route was full of wonder and love the whole way through.
The world became far more vibrant.
It all felt new and novel.
The journey was the entire focus.
I had people around me and not once did I get to that place of exasperation and harsh, judgment.
I was with people and I still operated in loving kindness and compassion.
The two weeks happened when my wife and I had the honor of hosting my youngest brother and his family.
My brother is nine years younger than me. I have called him Bear since the day he was born. I brought him in for show and tell in my fourth grade class. I have long been smitten. And remain that way still.
The trip afforded the opportunity to have my baby brother, sister-in-law and our soon-to-be three-years-old nephew in the sanctuary of our home and in our daily lives.
They met a few of the people we adore.
They watched shows with us that we love.
They ate with us, cooked with us, and lived with us.
It was the single best two weeks we have had since our living became riddled with loss and illness.
The difference that made this trip so special was rather basic, yet very powerful:
We wanted them here and they wanted to be here.
That’s the first step that led us to authentic connection.
Choice to be present. Choice to be loving. Choice for authenticity.
We removed the appearance of being perfect that we so readily hide behind in living. We ate outside whenever possible.
We enjoyed each other.
We laughed.
We played.
We shared deeply.
We even sang together, our joined voices gloriously out of key.
Nan and I rested a lot. I slept better than I had in two years.
This two week period was full of wonderful, loving moments.
Those moments, though, would not have led to the experience of love we all had. Love emerged when we chose to be open.
It beamed when we chose the risk of vulnerability.
It flourished when we chose to see each other.
Then they had to go. We said our goodbyes and my heart started to ache.
What will I do with the silence that has replaced the sounds of my sweet nephew‘s voice and movements?
What will I do with the ache that has replaced the joy of shared laughter?
What will I do with the feeling of fear that attempts to overshadow the feeling of love I joyously basked in?
That familiar route started creeping back in. The world started feeling less great. I started feeling a bit more cynical, a bit more easily frustrated, a bit less loving.
I want to live a loving life. It’s my aim, my core value. It informs so much of my everyday. I think about love a lot.
I have learned some things that I don’t always remember in times of ache. I do, though, remember it fully when I return to my practices that cultivate a loving heart. From that place I can see so much more clearly.
I tend to confuse the presence of Love with the feeling-of-love. When I confuse this, I end up in a place of pain and loneliness because states of being change.
My access to the feeling of love sometimes teeters.
My awareness of love as it relates to my worth often shifts.
Circumstances do not change the reality of love.
Love remains.
Steady.
Sturdy.
Stable.
My capacity to give love is in direct correlation with the love I am capable of cultivating within. I do not feel loving toward others if I have not created space for love.
The reality then is this: At least a solid 80% of the time I am willing to do the work within that allows me to see you and hear you and love you. The other 20% of me distorts.
I had such an easy access to Love over those two weeks that the feeling of love was constant and was easy to come by. It made the world seem alive in a way that I didn’t have access to in such a concentrated way.
Then the lens of fear arrived again. That lens distorts life. It changes what I see in the mirror. I become ugly and worthless. It changes how I see others. It changes how I see you.
The lens of loving-kindness and compassion allows me to see you far more clearly.
You are beautiful.
You are seeking.
You are adjusting.
You are healing.
You are breaking.
You are grieving.
You are aging.
You are trying.
You are fearful.
You are hopeful.
You are resting.
You are exhausted.
You are forgetting.
You are remembering.
You are being.
I can see you again.
I see your light and I see your struggle.
I can see how much we look alike.
I can see it so very clearly now.
You, my dear one, are loveable.
100% of the time.
What a trip Love turns out to be.