Over a year ago, I wrote my own Modern Love essay. It wasn’t great but it was raw and honest. It probably needs some polishing… Before bed every night, I used to read an essay from the book. I enjoyed the range of love portrayed and writing style. I’ve read the column and listened to the podcast for years.
I love reading love stories.
Recently, I’ve been listening to a book about love and connection when I go for walks. It got me thinking about the different types of love I’ve experienced in my life whether it be platonic, familial or romantic. The love I have for my friends, Russell, or even myself has changed and deepened over time. I’ve tried to take note of the ways I show love or how I like to receive it in return. Loving each other is why we’re all here, right? To be loved, seen, understood and cared for? Ultimately none of the other shit matters.
I could write an entire book about the love and connections I’ve experienced so far in my life and every chapter would offer something different than the last. But in this thought, I wanted to explore a certain expression of love—one that I haven’t really though as such. An author explained how writing and sharing experiences is a form of self-love as well as outward facing love. It’s an expression of your inner most thoughts and experiences which for yourself can be cathartic and healing. In my case, I can confirm. In an external sense, it can serve as an empathetic bridge to signal to someone that by sharing an intimate thought or experience, you’re telling them “I’ve been there and maybe you have too.”
People do actually read my website and for that, I’m thankful. But even if they didn’t, I would keep writing. I enjoy looking back at points in my life or essays I’ve written to remember how I felt. I wrote about an experience in an unfiltered way recently. An experience too personal to publish but one that helped me understand and relive nice memories. It also allowed me to remember the bad ones, too. It was healing to let things flow out of me knowing they wouldn’t be read by another person. It was an act of love for myself, even if I didn’t realize it at the time.
It was recently my best friend’s birthday and by recently, I mean yesterday. Historically speaking, she is not the biggest fan of her birthday. I’ve always done a delicate dance around this fact because I don’t want to push the boundaries of what makes her uncomfortable but also want to celebrate her. I may sound 90 years old but the older I’ve gotten, the more opportunities I take to celebrate anything or anybody. I love the fact that when September 1st rolls around, I get to feel a rush of gratitude that Carly is healthy, alive and still in my life. I love celebrating her and making her feel special. This year for the first time, she allowed the birthday celebrations to come in full force and even from afar, I felt like a part of her special day. Her friendship and our relationship means so much to me and has been healing for me in many ways.
Acts of love, reaching out to someone or reminding them what they mean to you is the single most important thing that’s within your power. . . in my opinion. I’ve been trying to keep that in focus as best as I can.
Anyway, I’ll jump down off my soap box now. I just feel very far away from the people I love. I miss my dad. I miss my friends. I miss home. I miss Omie. And you just never know with these things.