I have loved love since I was twelve years old. I am now thirty-eight, and I have fallen in love three times in my life. The first was my first love, a beautiful, vibrant, but young love, when I was in my twenties in New York. The second was with a Fijian fisherman/surfer/philosopher, who was emotionally volatile, yet I loved him. The third was beautiful, wickedly smart, wonderfully unique B, who has since become my heavenly soulmate.
I have been in two committed relationships since Brandon's passing nearly two years ago, but in both circumstances, something just wasn't quite right. The first man espoused wanting to marry me, and it all seemed good for a time, but ultimately, he was addicted to too many things. The second man is lovely and wonderful and so easy to be with, but his life circumstances have prevented us from moving forward at the present.
I have lived this big, beautiful extraordinary life, wrought with challenging circumstances. In one sense, I am tremendously blessed to have my immediate family intact, healthy relationships within it, a deeply rooted friend group, and a community of believers I am plugged into. I have been fortunate to attend not just undergrad, but graduate school, studying fields I am passionate about and am called to. I have leaned into my heart passion of writing, and produced two books on overcoming anxiety and navigating loss and grief. And I have been fortunate to live my life in the incredible cities of New York and Seattle and the San Francisco Bay Area, where I am privileged to own a home. I have two incredible, wonderful, insanely long dogs. I am fortunate beyond measure. And yet, there is the ache.
I first fell in love at 28, and in the ten years since, have lived so much life, and overcome so much. Panic attacks and anxiety, family health crises, family of origin ish, and the biggest, most impactful loss of my life, that of the man I was in love with, during our favorite time of the year.
I have told myself I am young, that I will move on, I will find another man to build a life with someday. But to be honest, I am so tired of opening up my heart to have it broken over and over again. The man I loved lives in a different galaxy from me. I have dared to open my heart up since his passing, and no one seems to meet the plane that he and I reached together.
Amidst this big, beautiful, life, there is the ache, of wanting to share it with someone whom I love, who fully chooses me and I them. And there is the disappointment of not understanding why that love I found, when I finally found it, wasn't allowed to last here, on this planet. And there is the pain of not understanding why he had to go, and the disappointment of being brave enough to open myself up to dating, only to be let down again and again.
Maybe this is what Jesus meant when he told his disciples, "“If any wish to come after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me" [Matthew 16:24]. Maybe our cross is the thing in our lives we want to pick up and hurl across the room at Jesus. Maybe one's cross can be a disappointing love life, an area where we repeatedly sense little progress or forward movement.
All I know to do is continue leaning into the joy I can find and bring about, here, on this planet, which I find comes in the shape of: familyfoodcommunitydogswineredwoodtreesswimmingpoolsartwritingnaturechurchpeace
I continue to walk this life out, to "take up my cross, daily," despite the ache. I walk alongside several other women who navigate a similar longing in their own lives, for that life partner to walk the joys and pains of this life out with. I can't help but wonder about this ironic juxtaposition of yearning, and love.
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