I love you.
You might be thinking….”Really? That’s creepy.”
Or you might be thinking….”Really? We’ve never even met!”
Or you might be thinking…..”Why, what’d you have in mind?” 😉
Or you might be thinking…..”Huh? I thought this was about why the environmental movement has failed.”
Please let me explain.
I believe you’re great, at least potentially. You are bursting wonderfully with potential, like a seed pod about to release its fertile contents to the wind. Or maybe already split wide open?
I believe you have an immense capacity for love.
I believe you have vulnerabilities, deep down inside. Or maybe they are bubbling over at the surface.
I believe you have suffered, and I know you will suffer more in your life.
I believe that when you were a baby you were charming, some of the time at least. Your smile would light up a room. And when people smiled at you, you smiled back. When they tickled you, you laughed. When they yelled at you, ignored you, hit you, if those things happened, you cried. And deep down inside, in your own barely-formed infant understanding of Life, wished things were different.
I believe you like puppies, or if not, kittens, or if not, goats, or if not, birds, or if not, butterflies, or if not, penguins, or turtles, or elephants, or fish, or manatees, or dolphins, or chimpanzees, or leopards, or flowers, or trees. Or all of them.
I believe you like music. And the sky, when you remember to look at it.
I believe you have some people in your life who you think you’re pretty awesome.
I believe you have the capacity for gratitude, even if you don’t express it always, or allow yourself to feel it always.
I believe you want to be “true to yourself,” to be authentic, not fake, not scared. Sometimes, when nobody’s around, you sing. Or dance in your kitchen. Or drum on your leg, or your steering wheel. There are things that bring you joy. There are people you’ve lost that you miss. There are people you will grieve when they die. There are people you admire. Sometimes, when you think about death, it makes you sad.
I believe that now, as an adult, when you tune into the news and hear about some place being bombed, some person being maimed, some animal being hurt, some industrial accident, some catastrophe, some child being abandoned, some atrocity — you still wish things were different.
I believe that if we spent some time together (but not TOO much time — haha), we’d find some things in common. We’d share a laugh or two, or a hundred. If we were stuck in a cave together in a blizzard, with enough food that we didn’t start thinking about eating each other, we’d probably share some good moments around our little campfire. We’d reflect on our childhoods. We’d wonder about god, or eternity, or the mystery of what it all means, together.
I believe that you love.
So yes, I love you.
It doesn’t mean we would necessarily “like” each other all that much. Maybe we’d rub each other the wrong way. Maybe you’d find me totally annoying. Or boring. Or weird. Or maybe I’d find you that way. Maybe if we were roommates, or partners, or family members sitting around the holiday-dinner-table, we’d drive each other nuts.
But I still love your potential. Your heart. Your kindness, when you can be kind.
I love that you know things I don’t, and if we had enough time, you’d likely teach some of them to me.
I love the fact that when you close your eyes to go to sleep, you look peaceful.
I love that you carry the pain of your life on your face, in the creases of your forehead, the saggy-ness under your eyes, the frown-lines at the corners of your mouth.
And I love that you carry the joy of your life on your face as well, the crinkles at the corners of your eyes, the creases in your cheeks, the softness, sometimes, in your gaze.
I love the fact that when you die, some of your last thoughts will be about the people you’ve known and cared about.