If “How to be Present” were the title of this season in my life, then “Learning to Love Myself” would be its subheading. Sometimes I attempt to figuratively swap title-placement, until those moments arrive when I *can’t* Love Myself. Then the only thing left to do is again be Present with the fraud who I often feel myself to be.
This high form of Presence offers a blunt confirmation of this truth: there exists no plateau to which I can climb that will bear the fruit of my everlasting-contentment. (And to think I’d been holding my breath all this time).
This whole thing is a wave. To even try and reduce life to a hackable, knowable “thing” is deserving of an earnest and maniacal belly laugh. I *don’t have to love it to ride it, but I *do* have to *want to ride it to learn how to love it. It’s in this greater sense that choosing love in our every action is at once the choice of the idealist and the cynic. For the idealist, we choose love because it’s what we aspire to. For the cynic, we choose love because, against all odds, it’s revealed as the only course to progress.
In spite of our defense’s best efforts to convince us otherwise, a withholding of love in any context cannot be part of a rational argument for or against anything. Our barrier against love, across the board, is a powerful storm of branded fear, grief and anger spilling out only where the contours of our personalities will allow. It’s at this stage where we employ our intellect to construct “reasons” for “feelings” that were never designed to be at the behest of logic to begin with.
Incredibly, as it turns out, when we give ourselves and each other permission to express our deepest vulnerabilities—when we wear this as a kind of invitation on our sleeves—all energies can be harnessed for the purposes of love. It’s only then when we’ll create the world that we otherwise busy ourselves with lamenting we aren’t powerful enough to create. Oh but we ARE <3
– Danny/TL&TW/December 17, 2015