"Please, let someone love you just the way you are - as
flawed as you might be, as unattractive as you sometimes feel, as
unaccomplished as you think you are. To believe you must hide all the parts of
you that are broken, out of fear that someone else is incapable of loving what
is less that perfect, is to believe that sunlight is incapable of entering a
broken window and illuminating a dark room."~Marc
When I catch myself thinking that I need to change or
improve myself to be more loveable, I have stumbled upon a gross misperception
about myself and the nature of love. A love that requires my modification is a
conditional love at best, and at worst, it is not love at all.
Love is an open field of acceptance whose expansive glow
embraces all misperceived flaws, neurosis and imperfection, a field that
relishes every last trace of vulnerability and exposed humanity. Love is a
presence that says, “I see you.You are whole.You are
The search for perfection in ourselves and in each other
is just a symptom of a kind of conditional love we’ve learned—a love that
requires certain conditions to exist. It says, “I will only love you if…” and
that love is far from real. It’s a mere faux-love that can be trusted no more
than trembling ground during an earthquake. Good luck trying to walk, let alone
dance in that.
Love is like the Japanese art of wabi sabi; it finds
beauty in the cracks and holds them with patient honey-like reverence. It says,
“There is nothing you could do to scare me away. Your wounds inspire my every
last tenderness.” It’s the missing button on the sweater, and the stories you’ve
lived while wearing it that makes it a favorite; it’s the chip in the mug from
a thousand prior meetings with your lips that makes it irreplaceable.
Love adores arm hairs turned blond by the sun, steals
glances while you’re not looking just to drink you in, and kisses scars and
freckles at every possible chance. Love generously relishes the incomplete,
transient work-in-progress that we all are, no exceptions.
In wholeness, love takes space between periods of
togetherness too, just so that she can stand back and witness your silhouette
whole against the sky. To miss you enough to welcome you back with the deepest presence
as though it were the first time and the last. Love knows how precious it all
is. How precious you are.
I’ve stopped looking for a perfect love. I know now that
in the clarity of my heart-eyes I will look from love’s
perfection and find it everywhere—in your eyes, in our common humanity, in each
shared breath and in every resonant heartbeat.