Letter #4: Now

“When you’re living through someone else’s soul, you learn to love who you are with.”

-Paradise Fears lyrics

Dear you,

When I look at you, I can see it in your eyes, your expression, feel it in your words. The sensation of being trapped, stuck in a rut, a square peg in a round hole. Yearning for the promises of the future; feeling the pangs of an inadequate present. Ready to move on. Ready for anything but here.

And my heart goes out to you with cavernous empathy. It’s because I understand you. So many similarities, you and me: so much in common, so much I’ve taken for granted all this time. So much to love, and so much I could’ve been learning from you. Hindsight offers up the regret of not ever looking at life through the lens of your soul. When we fail to do that, we fail to appreciate each other for who we are. We fail to love who we are with.

That concept, of loving who you’re with. Expanding the walls of your heart for one more raw, naked, human soul. Learning to appreciate someone for their value as a human being, not simply what they offer you. That’s a concept I’ve only recently come to realize.

We tend to shift focuses towards the oncoming rather than the at hand. I do that so often. And yet there’s so much to love, so much to savor. It’s such a waste, that every memory of time spent with those I love is tainted by a focus on the future rather than the present.

Idealizing what will be; taking for granted what is.

                                                       

Walking through IKEA, him reading books to me in Swedish, finding out we have the same taste in interior design. Glowing with the anticipation of someday building a house together. Finding joy in the future; cheapening the vibrant joy of memories currently being made.

Discussing graduation with my mother, realizing that I’d be done with my credits sooner than expected. Wanting to graduate early. Her vehement refusal. The heated words, the bitter hearts, the broken relationship. Seeing so much hope in the nearing future that the present seemed devoid of blessings.

Sitting on a bench in the hallway of Anderson University, tired from a long week, soaked from the wintry rain. Recoiling from the outside world together. Needing the solitude and peace of each other’s company, needing to compensate for the meaningless social interactions of our everyday life. My head resting on the wall behind me, drifting in and out of a hazy sleep; him reading Time Magazine noiselessly by my side. And his warm hug wakes me up.

“Why the hug?”

“I was reading about this old couple that got Alzheimer’s, and they forgot about each other. And I wanted to hug you while I could.”

I am not a master of loving who I’m with; seeing the good in what I have. But I do know that there’s such a joy in it. The most beautiful word is 'now'. There will be no joy in things to come if we don't love what we have. What will make it intrinsically better by that point? It'll become the present, just like everything else before it. Inadequate, taken for granted.

"And I wanted to hug you while I could.” This is when I learned to love who I am with. This is when I learned to savor the present, and stop taking it for granted. This is when I learned the futility of placing my joy in the future, what I don't have. This is when I learned to drink the blessings of what I'm given in the present, in the here and now.

For what it's worth, in the present, I have you. And I dearly love that. I dearly love you for who you are. Knowing you has taught me to love who I'm with and who I have. You make it easy. I'm glad for the here and now, because it's where you are.

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