The love you take is equal to the love you make. At least, it should be.

It's a funny thing; Love. It can make us feel a whole spectrum of emotions: blissful, depressed, fulfilled, infuriated, frustrated, hopeful, and sometimes a little insane. But love isn't really an emotion or a feeling. Love is a choice. It's a blatant act. It's not something you do subconsciously or by accident. However, I didn't always view love like this.

I've been "in love," truly, once in my life. It was a mad, passionate kind of love. Something I can equate only to the kind of stories you come across in Nicholas Sparks books. And that's saying something coming from someone who is normally an absolute realist when it comes to matters of the heart. It was powerful almost to the point of recklessness. It made me do and feel and say things that were so foreign to me. It molded me into a person I had never been and never thought I would ever be. I became a starry-eyed, lovey-dovey, fairytale-believing, let's-grow-old-together hopeless romantic.

There's a point to this story, I promise. The point is, throughout the duration of this mad, passionate love, I thought that it was involuntary, that I didn't have any other choice but to love that uncontrollably. I didn't have a choice. That was my defense. For two years, I argued that it was something beyond my control. But then reality was finally able to penetrate the dream-like delusion that was my present cognition. Once it sunk in, I was aware of just how deep in denial I had been.

I had made the decision to love so uninhibitedly. It didn't feel like something I had done consciously, mostly because I hadn't realized I had the capacity to do so. But I had done it. And I haven't been able to do it again since.

In life, we have experiences that alter our definition of love. This was my game changer. A love like that changes everything. It thrills you, electrifies you, exhausts you, and eventually refines you. In that order. At least, that was true for me. I believe that all love should be that deep. But knowing what I know now, I no longer believe that love is this magical thing that materializes out of thin air. In grammatical terms, it's a verb. It may feel like something fantastical and other worldly while you're in the midst of a great love. And that's fine. But the thing that I was forgetting in my experience, the thing that we all often forget, is that we have a choice to love or not.

Lately, I feel as though I have been receiving an overwhelming abundance of active love from the people surrounding me. It's almost a tangible kind of thing. I feel as though I could swell and burst from the amount of love that I have been given. My family, my friends, and sometimes even perfect strangers have shown me such kindness and genuine concern that I must owe them something in return.

That's when I realize that what I owe them is the same kind of love they have shown me, only amplified. And I don't know that I have been doing that. I don't think that I can stand firm and honestly say that I have been giving anyone in my life the love they deserve. I have not been consciously, actively, purposefully loving anyone at all. Not the way I should, anyway.

I tell people I love that I love them, but not often enough and certainly not as often as I used to. It's become something that's difficult for me to admit, particularly when I truly mean it. So I have to force myself to say it when I need to, but it shouldn't be something so painstaking.

I have a problem with expressing my love for people. I'm not often affectionate for reasons that require their own separate novel. I show love in unconventional ways that I can only imagine are quite difficult to decode.

Regardless, love should be given where love is due. It is overdue by years and months and incalculable volumes to the individuals in my life. I can't promise that I'm going to be able to give them everything that they have given me, plus the interest that I so obviously owe. But I can promise that I will do everything in my power to actively love them to the best of my ability. I promise to love them as much as my little heart can manage.

It is impossible to deny that I have been blessed beyond measure with the abounding love that has filled my life and my heart recently. Now, I just need to allow that love to move me. Undoubtedly, I feel the utmost gratitude to those who have indeed loved me so deliberately. I can only thank them a thousand times over for loving me even though I am so undeserving. One of these days, and hopefully very soon, I will be able to repay them for the great love they have chosen to show me.

Love is a choice, whether we believe it or not. I believe that now. I choose to love and love on purpose.

Chaos and clarity

When my mind is a mess, writing is the best remedy. Sometimes I just need to put words to paper (or, in this case, screen) to make the chaos make sense. I don't need to write about anything in particular. I just need that therapeutic release that comes from spilling my thoughts out in the form of words.

It saves me from myself when what I want more than anything is to do something irresponsible or reckless. It stops me from doing things I'll regret. It keeps me sane in my most crazed moments. So, please excuse me while I spill out the contents of my brain here and attempt to find my way through this maze of muddled thoughts.

My life, at this very moment, is chaos. Let's just call it what it is. Don't get me wrong. I know that no one's life is a perfectly straight, continuous row of days, hours, and split seconds that make perfect sense. Life, in it's general sense is not a series of puzzle pieces that fit together flawlessly. That is quite clear.

It occurred to me quite some time ago that my life was not, is not, and will not ever be perfect. And I swiftly came to terms with that reality. I'm okay with it. Truly. Perfection has kind of always bored me anyway. I need messy. It gives me something to do with my time, my mind, my hands.

As a child, I was the epitome of an obsessive compulsive perfectionist. So much so, that I think it might have driven me mad. But, as the years passed and series of events unfolded that jolted and transformed my world, I also transformed. I let go of that itching need to make everything neat and tidy. I let go of the idea of perfection. It can't be achieved and, even if it can, it can't be preserved. Perfection only shows its shining face in fleeting moments and then quickly dwindles away into sweet memories stored away in those hopeful corners of our minds for safe keeping.

I gave up on perfection long ago. So I see my life now, in its present state, as merely normal. But, despite this normalcy, I still find the chaos magnificent. I may not have any clue which direction I'm going, or which direction I should go, but unpredictable has kind of become my thing.

Absolutely nothing is making sense right now. I'm caught in the in-between in nearly every aspect of my existence. Maybe I should be worried. My mother certainly is, just ask her. Or don't. But I'm not worried. I'm blowing in the wind and I'm letting my seeds scatter where they may. Just call me a dandelion.

I'm a wildflower. I'm messy. I'm in the midst of chaos. But I'm living and I'm growing. And, at the end of the day, I'm happy. I'm uncertain, sure. Scared? Absolutely. But worried? No. I'm sleeping on this couch just fine. I often say that I can get by with very little and I'm learning that I was pretty right on about that.

I have everything I need. So what if it isn't perfect? I'm perfectly happy. Just let me be a wildflower.

In respect of time...

There's this annoying little habit that people have of expecting life to deliver itself in nice, neat packages tied up tight with sparkly bows. Or maybe that's just me. I (and I'm really hoping I'm not actually alone in this) have this disgustingly compulsive need for closure. I have to have it. In my experience, it's the only thing that has made moving on possible. Or so I was inclined to believe.

The first time I truly got my heart broken, I yearned for closure. I obsessed over it. I was sure that if I were just able to ask a few last questions and get a few simple answers that it would fix everything and I would finally be okay. I didn't get to ask those questions. I didn't get those answers. At least, not for a while. But by the time I received those long overdue answers, I had been around in circles through every corner of my mind and had come up with every possible conclusion to qualm my paranoia and anxiety.

I didn't realize it then. I can be terribly dense sometimes. It wasn't until just recently that I realized that those answers, even if I had received them when I thought I needed them, wouldn't have fixed me. Being left in the dark tortured me, without a doubt. I tore myself apart trying to figure it all out. But it wouldn't have mattered if I got the answers that I so longed for. It wouldn't have fixed me. It might have helped to speed up the healing process, but it would not in itself have healed me.

I realize that now. I see that it's not answers, it's not actions or words that reconfigure a broken heart. It's Time. Time washes over us. It makes us new and we never even see it coming. We go through the steps to recovery: we admit our circumstances, feel our pain, embrace the change, and accept our new reality. And then we move forward. Moving on doesn't always follow immediately, but it's just around the corner. We learn to cope. We learn lessons. We learn to endure. That's what Time does. Time is a healer, a teacher, a strength provider.

Time has been good to me. I may not always see its reasoning or agree with it, but this concept of time happens when it's supposed to. Everything has a set time to occur. We just have to be willing to be patient and go along for the ride. Eventually, things will begin to make sense and fall into place if you just take a moment to let Time pass and work its strange magic.

Patience, Time, and I have not always been the best of friends, but in the end we always settle into a mutual respect somehow. I have learned more in the times that I have been patient and waited on my answers, whatever form they eventually presented themselves in, than from rushing through the rough patches and trying to pry the answers out of thin air.

So if you're trying to move on, just wait on Time. You may not get the answers you desire, but you will get the time that you need. Be appreciative of that time. It's the greatest remedy we have. Closure will come if you let it. And when it does, it will arrive in the most unexpected little wrapped up box you could have possibly imagined. And it will be everything you never knew you needed.

"In order to move on, you must understand why you felt what you did and why you no longer need to feel it." -Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet In Heaven

Wise words in unexpected places

Sometimes people will utter simple words that have the power to change your life, or at least change your perspective, and they mean it as nothing more than a passing comment. This is a cool thing. Pay attention when this happens.

So, here's my related story: I received some very wise advice and shockingly accurate insight from a completely unexpected source recently, and it sparked a long-winded yet much needed self-analysis.

"You need someone who's all in." Those six words came from an old friend who I see maybe once or twice a year. But she hit the nail right on its stubborn little head and I don't even think she realized what she had done. I'm so glad she did. I honestly couldn't have said it better myself.

Sometimes people on the outside know what you truly need deep down better than you know in your own consciousness. Sometimes we're blind to what it is we're missing or just neglecting to notice because, simply, we're too close to the problem to actually be able to see it clearly, if at all. Sometimes these people have a better perspective since their viewpoint isn't so obstructed by their own emotions. Sometimes we need these people to tell us exactly what it is we really need. Because we often confuse what we want and what we need and, more often than not, what we want isn't really what we need.

I've been getting asked what I want more often than normal lately. And because these questions are typically targeting the relationship sphere of wants, usually my answer amounts to little more than "I don't know." However, when I'm being painfully honest, my answer to this question comes out as some variation of "Nothing. I just want to be left alone." Which, due to current events in my sometimes much-too-eventful life, couldn't be more true.

"What do you want?"

It's a question that almost always throws me for a loop. If you're asking what I want in my career, I can give you an answer without hardly blinking an eye. I can tell you with ease where I want to travel and when and why. I can tell you with absolute certainty whether I want paper or plastic, cream in my coffee, or fries with that. Those things are simple. The yeses and noes and black and white are easy for me. The inconsequential ones anyway.

"Are you happy?" "Have you moved on?" "Do you still love him?" for example... Those ones aren't nearly as black and white to answer. That's my big problem. All those relationship/romantic type questions leave me with little more to offer than a blank, blinking stare, a shake of the head, and shrug of the shoulders accompanied by an exasperated sigh. I can't answer those. I just can't. I don't think there's a real answer to give.

Honestly, I think the question everyone should really be asking me (and really anyone else for that matter) is "What do you need?" My answers to this question might be the same: "I just need to be left alone." Maybe that's how you really know that something is what you genuinely want. Maybe if we got into the habit of saying to ourselves "I know this is what I think I want, but is it really what I need?" we would all be a whole lot better off evaluating our choices on that basis.

It can often be a great struggle to figure out what we want and an even greater struggle to decide whether or not that specific want is good for us. We can't know until we've already chosen and come out at the end to face the result. And that's what makes these questions so difficult to answer. They're so incredibly uncertain and that makes them so very frightening.

Maybe it's because our bad decisions, as we come to view them after the fact, leave us scarred and afraid. We learn to fear making any decision or taking any action at all because there's a chance that it might turn out to be just another "mistake." But, at the risk of sounding unbearably cliché, to be afraid to make a mistake is to be afraid to actually live. We have to go out on a limb sometimes. We have to take that leap and allow ourselves to fall. Every experience is meant to foster growth. I honestly believe that. And if we never fall flat on our face and have the opportunity to will ourselves to get back up, brush off the dirt, and keep trudging along, we never really grow. We stay exactly the same. And who wants that?

So, what do I want? The truth is, I want to fall head over heels in love with my best friend. I want to have that inseverable kind of bond with someone I can see myself spending the rest of my life with. I want that closeness. I want to find that person that makes my soul sing. I want that great love. I want someone who is all in.

Someday. Just not today. Right now, I just want to be on my own. I'm still brushing off the debris from my last dramatic tumble. I think I can wait a little while before I allow my face to metaphorically become acquainted with the ground in such a traumatic manner again. What I need is to take this time to run free and feel and see and fully experience the world around me and its abundance of opportunities through my own eyes on my own time. I really do just want to be left alone. And, until God shows me differently, it really is what I need.

Not all advice is good advice. But when it is, hopefully you'll have the sense to see it. And when you do, take it and run with it.