Focusing On What I Have (Rather Than What I'm Missing)
Focusing On What I Have (Rather Than What I'm Missing)
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"Love actually is...all around." When Hugh Grant's character narrates the opening of the movie Love Actually, he admits love — the love in evidence at the arrivals gate of Heathrow Airport — is not particularly dignified. It's awkward and pedestrian. But it's pervasive.
Shot after shot of homecomings and reunions reveal something profound in everyday love. Siblings, grandparents and their children, and old friends reach out for each other, smiling and crying. They hold each other dearly.
By nature love is exponential. It multiplies to the beat of a steady drum. It keeps families together, protects us, and makes the world go round. It is quiet and vital.
Love actually is also...terribly hard work. Things get in the way — like thinking love should move me and elevate me to star status. For years I suffered under the girlish delusion that love means having it all — drama, attention, and romance. Even older and wiser I haven't truly let go of what I think love should be long enough to see what love is.
Instead, in my head I created the perfect man by adding bits and pieces of memory to a smattering of emails from a former beau halfway around the world. I haven't seen him in 15 years, but on the skeleton of a boy I once knew, my imagination draped all sort of grown-up traits, creating a man who would put me first, would match my intellectual curiosity, and who would attract me and play with me exactly how I wanted him to.
But that man didn't really exist. And as I dreamed of him, of how being with him would change my life, I missed out on what I already had: Rob. He's imperfect, unspectacular. To be sure, ours is no dramatic romance. But it's comforting.
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