Call me sappy and mushy.

Call me idealistic and Pollyanna-like.

Call me hopelessly optimistic and simple minded-like.

I still think that Love is what it’s all about, Alfie.

Sounds so very hippity dippity doo-dah…

So very Dionne Warwickish…

Like a bunch of anti-badassery mumbo jumbo…

But sooner or later, we’re gonna have to face it. We’re gonna have to learn it. If we’re gonna make it.

As a species, I mean.

I’m not really talking here about warm fuzzy, though I love a good warm fuzzy.

And I don’t really mean, “Oh, let’s all skip in the daisies and be bff’s and la, la, la, we’re so nice.” Though I sometimes need a good la la, and a new daisy chain for my bff, and I do like nice.

What I mean, is the opposite of fear.

I mean Love.

You know…

Like saying, “I forgive you.”

And, “I’m sorry.”

And, “I don’t understand you, but I accept you.”

And, “I’m really scared, but I accept you.” (Unless you’re a mugger or a rapist, in which case I kick you in the nuts and run like hell.)

Or how about, “I love me.” Now there’s a hard one. Can you do it?

I mean Love.

Like doing the right thing. (You know what I’m talkin’ about. Listen to your guts.)

And doing the hard thing.

And doing the courageous thing.

And doing the unpopular thing.

And doing YOUR OWN thing. What? Is that loving?

I am finding, since learning how to breathe, that it’s becoming clearer.

It keeps showing up.

In the morning sun. In a stranger’s smile. In a good hair day. In that email I just got. In that creamy cuppa Joe. In her laugh. In his eyes. In the breeze. In this breath. And this one. And this one.

Yep, even in my vegetables.

Now I know that is so hella woo-woo. But…

Wait for it…

It’s also hella twu-twu.

Oh, I can’t…

F*^% it. I’m leaving it.

---