Seeking Love
Keys, locks, and an unending mission to get inside
I’ve finally figured it out, guys.
What a journey it’s been. 28 years, not too far from 29, and I did it. I figured out love.
No, this isn’t me announcing I have a girlfriend. I wouldn’t put it past myself to write a newsletter on that, though.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately, as I do. Reigniting old feelings for familiar faces. Maybe it’s the warm weather that always brings me here.
This time last year, I was just through recovering from a heartbreak. It’s was a hellish winter and spring. Absolutely hellish. Way too much drinking. Way too much sulking. When I got past that, part of me wanted to never love again.
If love leads to such turmoil, what the hell is the point?
I got a new job and a new place. I was not only free of the pain, but also of everything else. No one to report to about my daily life. No commitments that weren’t of my own doing. It was nice to be on my own and doing my own thing, every single day, however I pleased.
Things tend to get a little stale living life that way.
But, it was nice to have complete control over my mood, not having to worry about whether that one person cares as much as you. What an utterly miserable place to be.
And then love comes calling again. Of course, you pick up.
It my nightly thinking, I pondered on this phenomenon. It’s so easy to imagine what you might say. Your protective ego sets you up to dismiss your feelings, and your intuitive mind jumps in to plan for something much better.
What a silly way to approach life. To assume that you can build your own castle and not expect some rain in the process.
I thought about my one true love, writing. The thing that brings me peace and joy more than anything else in the world. I wondered why that might be.
Maybe I was born to do it. That was something I figured long ago. But that can’t be the only thing that brings me back.
Is it the money? The applause? Haha. Not enough of that.
Is it some ego trip? That I’m just so smart, coming up with these ideas and turning them into something digestible and entertaining? Once again, the lack of money and applause suggests there’s little interest in my words at all.
Is it the process? Not the planning and execution, but the magical moments in between? Yes! That!
There’s an intoxication that comes from flow. Flow is something very hard to explain. It’s one of those if you know, you know phenomenon.
It’s the escape to a place inside that you can’t access any other way. It’s burrowing a hole so deep inside of yourself that you wonder where the hell you even are. It’s escaping time and space entirely, sinking into your chair, feeling your fingers strike the keyboard, but living in some other place.
It can’t be replicated by drugs. There’s no science to it. It’s a goal only achieved when living in motion.
A stagnant life of no motion doesn’t lead to love. It leads to leaving your laptop unopened, on the floor, and your mind fixated only on what you can see.
Love is this way in all forms. It is an act of self-discovery. It is finding parts of yourself you can’t otherwise access.
The trick is, you need the right key to open that lock.
And sometimes, you pull out the wrong key, or the porch light is off and you can’t get the damn thing in right. But if you don’t find someone to open that door, you’ll be sleeping on the stoop until the sun shines once again.