The chair had a green plush bottom, and she moved it without me having to ask, knowing it was the only chair I'd sit in. I was unexpectedly moved by this gesture, so used to having to beg and plead and describe and explain my needs again and again before anyone would even start to consider them. Nonverbal gestures sure can be powerful when their message gets through.
I grabbed the wrong bag before I left and left without my wallet or keys. I was meeting a friend to get back a sweater I had left in his car, and thought I could ask him for a few dollars to get the goodies that were so essential to my being able to calm myself in public. He helped me without even thinking twice. I felt honored.
Embedded in a casual conversation with a girl who works at the coffee shop I go to, I asked her about her Halloween plans. She mentioned a party she was going to, and before the usual jealousy could overtake me, she said "You could come too if you wanted, but I know it would probably be a bit loud for you." Oh, the quiet joy, of hearing those words, words I wished for in nearly every conversation I've had in my thirty years of living, the simple words of being included. She was right, it would be too loud. But she invited me anyway. And my heart sung.
The conversation with the friend I met this afternoon at the coffee shop was flowing, and rich, and beautiful. It started in a natural place, and meandered around considering topics of mutual interest for a relaxed but rich 90 minutes until my friend had to go. It filled my heart, and was so much better than the brain dump or more one sided conversations I often get into with people when I'm stressed and need to vent. Oh, two sided mutual conversations, I love you! And I have had far too little of you. Oh, how I love conversations about how to have conversations. To me, there is nothing more important to consider than how to express and receive love for other people. How I love energy that flows between two people and doesn't feel like it gets stuck in one person or the other.
Frustrated that I had to go back to the gelato place after I left my sweater there, I pleaded and cajoled myself to walk. Feeling exhausted after so much activity and too little time to process, I was sure I was headed for some dismal uncertain emotional future. I took Congress to Exchange instead of my usual meandering walk, to get the errand over with as soon as possible. But when I got there, a young man with warm eyes was standing and talking to the girl who worked there. His energy was inviting, and I couldn't resist. Ninety minutes and two life stories shared later, he left, and I sat, trying to just absorb all of my feelings without judging them.
When I was ready to leave, it was raining, and I hadn't brought an umbrella. I panicked, knowing that the feeling of rain against my skin was one of the worst sensory experiences possible for me, especially for a 30 minute walk. But no sooner had I expressed this than the girl who worked at the shop offered me the store's extra umbrella, saying she knew I'd bring it back. I was so caught up in love. I was hungry and tired and loved.
That walk back home up Congress passed quickly, without any debate about which side of the street was less depressing or looking in windows being jealous of other people's lives. I sat and contemplated. I felt loved, and the idea occurred to me that maybe, just maybe this time I could remember that this feeling of love existed in the world even when I got up the next morning. It clearly happened nearly every time I left the building. Maybe I didn't have to spend every single day chasing after it and engaging again and again just to remind myself love existed. Could I feel it without being right in the middle of it? Could I? I didn't know. I still don't. But I started to imagine what that would feel like.
Today, I felt loved. And I want to tell my future self reading this that love exists in the world and can be accessed any time you want it. You don't need to feel needy and panicked and empty if you're not experiencing it all the time. You can remember you're loved even when it's not obvious at the moment you're in. People seem to express love given the chance.
As Alan Jackson sings, "Faith, hope and love are some good things he gave us," and what a fitting end to my day hearing that song on the radio was. Pain will always exist. It's not going anywhere. But maybe love is like a muscle that needs to be consistently exercised a while before you can start to feel it. Maybe it grows. Maybe, just maybe, it's blossoming.