Thoughts on an Excerpt
When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. It is an impossibility. It is even a lie to pretend to. And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity - in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.
The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping, even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now. Relationships must be like islands, one must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits - islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea, and continually visited and abandoned by the tides. -- Anne Morrow Lindbergh, from "A Gift from the Sea"
I've been thinking about this lately, what with my life being in such flux. It's touching me more deeply than ever. I feel like I'm opening to a new understanding of love in all the forms it takes.
My husband can't live with me right now, and while I was devastated by the process of that coming to pass, a funny thing has happened: the time we spend together means so much more, and we're developing a whole new appreciation of each other as strong individuals. We're so much more supportive of each other than we've been able to be in years. Our relationship can't be what it was, and perhaps it never will be again, but it's something else now, something good, and it will be other good things as our future unfolds.
In the midst of this disaster-turned-opportunity, the love of my friends, my chosen family, has sustained me. I feel it so acutely that it takes my breath away. While I'm often lonely for a particular love, whichever that may be (and I'll get to more of that in a minute), I never slide into loneliness. Other times, in some cases, I've had the privilege of supporting them; now, I'm touched and humbled by their willingness to entertain me, to feed me, to talk to me or to listen to me. I had a snippet of a conversation a couple of weeks back about how it's not only our lovers with whom we fall in love, but our friends. Maybe the love is different, but then again, maybe not. I believe that to be one of those mysteries to which words are simply inadequate.
I've always been one to bond intensely -- I remember warning Dave about that when we were falling for each other in that way that friends who seem almost fated do. What I'm learning now is to accept that propinquity is not a mandatory element, nor is maintaining the greatest intensity of a bond. So many of the people I love are far away from me now, and busy with lives in which I'm not directly involved, but I love them no less: not Jen in BC, nor Dave in Manitoba, nor Fluffy way up in Moosonee, nor any of the other people who live in my heart, but not nearby.
Nor, I'm coming to understand, is the available form of relationship a barrier the way it once was. I can feel anything I like, and while it opens possibilities on my end, I don't need them to be reciprocated, nor do I need the available forms to match. Now that I've opened up and had that hugely important conversation I talked about in a recent blog post, now that I've laid my cards on the table, I find myself more open and trusting, more able to be vulnerable with the individual in question. The ambivalence between us is gone, I've found my footing, and while my feelings haven't changed, they're no longer tearing me up inside by swirling around and around in the dark. I realized today that I haven't just accepted the paths that are closed to me, I've embraced those that are open. I'm at peace with what is, abiding unrequited passion and all. (As I noted elsewhere, we're grownups here -- anyone who can't handle that level of honesty probably shouldn't read me.)
I'm having a similar experience with my long-distance crush, actually: I swear, we only meant to make friends, but our connection is becoming more and more substantial and intense. He's proven to be someone I can really talk to -- including, in fact, things the majority of my closest and dearest are only aware of if they pay really, really close attention. I'm rather more taken with him than I ever intended to be, to a degree that might otherwise be dangerous, but the funny thing is, it doesn't make me want to change the nature of our relationship (in the non-loaded sense of the word). It is what it is, and in fact, it is what it can be. And that's fine.
I'm getting better, always a little better incrementally, at finding my peace not in relationships that fit comfortably into boxes, but in letting the landscape be whatever it is. That's brought me to a bit of an explosion of radical transparency, just lately. It's an adventure, not demanding or expecting, not even hoping, but simply accepting. I think I'm starting to get good at it. This is my poly. This is how I love. This is what it is, for me, to be all in.
The only real security is not in owning or possessing, not in demanding or expecting, not in hoping, even. Security in a relationship lies neither in looking back to what was in nostalgia, nor forward to what it might be in dread or anticipation, but living in the present relationship and accepting it as it is now. Relationships must be like islands, one must accept them for what they are here and now, within their limits - islands, surrounded and interrupted by the sea, and continually visited and abandoned by the tides. -- Anne Morrow Lindbergh, from "A Gift from the Sea"
I've been thinking about this lately, what with my life being in such flux. It's touching me more deeply than ever. I feel like I'm opening to a new understanding of love in all the forms it takes.
My husband can't live with me right now, and while I was devastated by the process of that coming to pass, a funny thing has happened: the time we spend together means so much more, and we're developing a whole new appreciation of each other as strong individuals. We're so much more supportive of each other than we've been able to be in years. Our relationship can't be what it was, and perhaps it never will be again, but it's something else now, something good, and it will be other good things as our future unfolds.
In the midst of this disaster-turned-opportunity, the love of my friends, my chosen family, has sustained me. I feel it so acutely that it takes my breath away. While I'm often lonely for a particular love, whichever that may be (and I'll get to more of that in a minute), I never slide into loneliness. Other times, in some cases, I've had the privilege of supporting them; now, I'm touched and humbled by their willingness to entertain me, to feed me, to talk to me or to listen to me. I had a snippet of a conversation a couple of weeks back about how it's not only our lovers with whom we fall in love, but our friends. Maybe the love is different, but then again, maybe not. I believe that to be one of those mysteries to which words are simply inadequate.
I've always been one to bond intensely -- I remember warning Dave about that when we were falling for each other in that way that friends who seem almost fated do. What I'm learning now is to accept that propinquity is not a mandatory element, nor is maintaining the greatest intensity of a bond. So many of the people I love are far away from me now, and busy with lives in which I'm not directly involved, but I love them no less: not Jen in BC, nor Dave in Manitoba, nor Fluffy way up in Moosonee, nor any of the other people who live in my heart, but not nearby.
Nor, I'm coming to understand, is the available form of relationship a barrier the way it once was. I can feel anything I like, and while it opens possibilities on my end, I don't need them to be reciprocated, nor do I need the available forms to match. Now that I've opened up and had that hugely important conversation I talked about in a recent blog post, now that I've laid my cards on the table, I find myself more open and trusting, more able to be vulnerable with the individual in question. The ambivalence between us is gone, I've found my footing, and while my feelings haven't changed, they're no longer tearing me up inside by swirling around and around in the dark. I realized today that I haven't just accepted the paths that are closed to me, I've embraced those that are open. I'm at peace with what is, abiding unrequited passion and all. (As I noted elsewhere, we're grownups here -- anyone who can't handle that level of honesty probably shouldn't read me.)
I'm having a similar experience with my long-distance crush, actually: I swear, we only meant to make friends, but our connection is becoming more and more substantial and intense. He's proven to be someone I can really talk to -- including, in fact, things the majority of my closest and dearest are only aware of if they pay really, really close attention. I'm rather more taken with him than I ever intended to be, to a degree that might otherwise be dangerous, but the funny thing is, it doesn't make me want to change the nature of our relationship (in the non-loaded sense of the word). It is what it is, and in fact, it is what it can be. And that's fine.
I'm getting better, always a little better incrementally, at finding my peace not in relationships that fit comfortably into boxes, but in letting the landscape be whatever it is. That's brought me to a bit of an explosion of radical transparency, just lately. It's an adventure, not demanding or expecting, not even hoping, but simply accepting. I think I'm starting to get good at it. This is my poly. This is how I love. This is what it is, for me, to be all in.
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