Maybe you are not prone to worry, but I sure am. Beneath this go-with-the-flow, care free exterior is little Agonizing Ann that frets over puny little issues. I first blame it on my over active imagination, which takes a lot of flack in regards to my character flaws. It conjures up all kinds of possibilities, both logical and ludicrous. Secondly, I blame it on my heredity. Special thanks to my dear ole dad for transferring that trait to me. I am pretty sure he stays up at night, trying to think of new things to worry about. But then again, his mother suffered from chronic worry, so it is not really his fault either. I like to think that it is lessening with each generation, so my kids may have a chance at normalcy.
I have found that uncertainty will just about kill you. And if that doesn’t do it, the justification process to make things “right” will. I have spent the last 10 years in question mark relationships. You know, “eh maybe” ones. I read this little thing in a magazine recently that said, “If he loves you, you’ll know. If he doesn’t, you’ll be confused.” I have been very, very confused. I had honestly almost completely written off the idea of “meant to be” and was crossing over to cynic-ville. Then I met him.
My dad almost drown once. They were white water rafting, and he went over a chute and was knocked out of the raft. The current sucked him under like a vacuum, and he found himself struggling for his life. No matter how much he worked and swam and fought, he couldn’t make it back to the surface. He said that he finally reached a point where he thought, “This is it.” As he accepted his fate, he let the current pull him under, something crazy happened. He hit the bottom, and it shot him out like a rocket.
That story perfectly depicts my experience with love, trying so hard to force it, to make it work, to be in control to the point that it almost killed me. And just as I was deciding to quit fighting, life shot me something great.
A few days after “giving up”, I met the man of my dreams. Every love song, romance novel, sonnet, and picture of a couple frolicking through a flowery meadow or kissing under the Eiffel Tower pales in comparison to what I feel. Words fail me, which is unfortunate for this little blog here. I can say this though in regards to what I thought I knew about love and what it actually is. Love is not a currency; it is not something that can be earned. It is given, and freely at that. You don’t choose it: it chooses you, and it is there whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. I have spent the better part of my adult life looking for it, never thinking that it just might find me.
I know this all sounds crazy, especially if it is not something that you have experienced yourself. It’s ok. I was a total skeptic too. I get that. The question that I get most often these days is how can I be so sure, and the most conclusive and compelling response I can muster is: when you know, you know.
