Each snowflake in an avalanche pleads not guilty. (Stanislaw J. Lec)
So there is this boy. Several time zones away in California, adorable, evolved, sweet and interesting.
Let’s call him Kyle.
We message at random intervals, out of the blue one day, he says he loves me.
What do I do?
I get up-fucking-set.
He cannot possibly.
I question his behaviour, what does he want from me? (nothing, he lives in California)
I get defensive, question my behaviour.
Did I lead him on, is he high, he doesn’t know me, this is not possible.
But he said it, and he meant it.
Why did that freak me out so bad?
Am I not out here adrift on the internet ocean on display?
Sequestered out in the country I’ve ended up living a Facebook life. (I want a real life again please)
Heart is on sleeve at all times, mouth runs rampant, everybody knows when I am having a feeling, and I can’t make this shit up.
So, by default, if he has been paying any attention, and he has…Kyle knows me. (A lot of people do, thanks internet.) His opinion was weighed and measured and came up valid. How odd.
This has me wondering how good I am at hide and seek. I worry people can see me gritting my teeth through my virtual smile.
Maybe I am not invisible, but crystal clear through what I say and do here.
Do these people actually see me and like me? Or even love me. This is freaking me out.
So I was hanging out with my girl and her daughter. I love her daughter all up. She’s this brave, sassy perfect little pixie person of awesome. For her my purse is a tickle trunk, I am always pulling out toys, crayons and paper so she has something to do while we are waiting for whatever. I remember being 4 and trying to exist in the world of grown-ups. Knowing I shouldn’t twitch and I should be waiting patiently but inside I was on fire with the need to be doing something, anything but this awful nothing.
Little Miss Pixie Pants meets two other little girls. They are shy for a minute and then do as children do, go play without prejudice. 5 minutes, when you are 4, gets you the same level of trust as us adults knowing each other for a year. Time is relative. Trust is easy. Adding these to the list of things I need to remember.
When they parted ways they hugged and smiled, the Wee Pixie watched them walk down the sidewalk and spontaneously called out after each one, “I love you”, and not just once. I am tearing up right now thinking about it. It was amazing.
Every time I see her I tell her she is brave, smart, and wonderful and that she is important to me and that I love her.
I never did/got that when I was a kid, or even much until recently. ‘I love you’ was some magical rare sacred thing that couldn’t be given or said lightly. Oh, I love, I loved my friends, especially one in particular. I idolized her and adored her and felt protective of her and I was happy when I was with her.
This is one, clear definition of love is it not? Yes, yes it is.
I know now that I never told her I loved her because I was afraid she didn’t love me back.
The fear of not being loved in return is a big deal for me, or it was. She did, she told me a few months ago. Among some other truths from when I was little. Hearing this 20 some odd years later was life altering.
My childhood perceptions on how I was viewed and valued were so skewed. They followed me around until recently, even now I have a hard time feeling loved by those who see me when I am messy. It’s easier to accept losing ‘friends’ who liked me better when I was reigning Queen of Sarahisabrokenbirdland, than it is to feel worthy of being loved by those who are happy I am finally happy I abdicated my throne. How fucked up is that?
There is an exercise that goes around on the internet often, the one that asks what two words would you tell yourself as a child.
My two have always been ‘be brave’, I may amend that to ’you’re loved, or ‘you’ll see’ (with a knowing smile).
I can now love like a 4 year old, 37 years later.
As lovely as it is to hear(and it is lovely), it is equally wonderful and liberating to say it out loud, knowing that I mean it.
This is what an avalanche must feel, like a burden lifted, falling with reckless abandonment.