Archive for February 1st, 2008

Like many teenagers, I had a plan…to marry my high school sweetheart, get a college degree, land a high-paying job, live in the city, and have a happy life thereafter. Like many high-schoolers my age, no one told me to have a back-up plan. So when my high school sweetheart, my first real love, broke my heart in the second semester of my freshman year, I floundered. It was the first time that I no longer mattered to someone I cared about deeply. I was no longer an option for her.

We survive the most trying of times. Heartbreak is certainly nothing we hope for or want to go through repeatedly. We get stronger. We get smarter. Some become guardians of their own heart to their own detriment. Some become afraid to put it out there. But damn, if it’s not out there how will someone find it?

While it sucks being on the receiving end, it’s kinda the same when you find yourself breaking a heart. There’s no joy in that. I’ve been on the giving end and lemme tell ya’, I’d just as soon have mine stomped then stomp on someone.

So here I am. Ready to be that someone’s something – not just an option in a playbook. I’m ready to be the “it” guy to the right girl and vice versa. I’ve made my own weather. I’m where I am because of my choices and I sleep well at night…not counting last Wednesday.

What’s it take to be “it?”

Confidence. Care. Listening. Honesty. The ability to say, “I’m sorry.” Convictions. Strength. Hope. Vulnerability. That’s just for starters.

Laurie Kendrick posted a query this week in which one of the questions she asked was, “What Is Love?” Holy smokes. Hit the link and read some of the responses. It’s telling, I think, for those who chose to answer. From a form of desparation to the brightest possible life moment – love seems to defy description. Yet we each think we know when we are in it. Still, love confuses the masses and confounds the most educated of people. There’s no right answer, by the way.

More than wealth, fame, power, or glory, we all seem to want love in our life. That tells me that even in our darkest hours, we’re not a bad bunch (not counting skinhead Nazis, perhaps). We each want to be “it,” have “it,” give “it.”

And that, my friends, hasn’t really changed since we got up from all fours and became bi-peds.



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