Like all writers, I’ve written about love.
When my sister married her wife, I wrote them a poem, and in it, I tried to break love down to all of its individual ingredients, its varying shades of legacy, fear, pain, hope, security, romance, fulfillment, vulnerability, friendship, and sex, plus all the rest.
I’ve written about the dangers of fairy tale endings, how we grow up hoping that we will meet the one that will make us happy and fulfilled for happily ever after, and how any alternative to that scenario becomes threatening.
I’ve written about the phrase “I Love You”, and all of it’s varying shades or misuse and overuse. It hurts when it isn’t said, or when it is but isn’t meant, or when it is used too much, or when it’s only meant for now.
I’ve written about my birth, and the birth of my sons. I’ve written about the beginning of my marriage, and the end. I’ve written about getting my heart broken by people I have loved, and about breaking the hearts of those who have loved me.
I’ve written about loving places and things. I’ve written about loving God and, in time, instead, learning how to love myself. I’ve written entire blog posts dedicated to the concept of Valentines day and what it means or doesn’t mean to people. I’ve written about loss, grief, and devastation. I’ve written about loneliness.
I’ve written about embracing each day as it comes, about being patient for the future, about putting in the effort to get the desired results, and about experiencing joy. I’ve written when single, when lonely, when devastated, when heartbroken, when happy, and when inspired.
I’ve written anecdotes about my children, about plans for the future, and about little nugget from my own story, so many of them revolving around my origins in growing up gay and Mormon in a broken family that was full of love, and those are likely always the roots I will go back to as they are the eyes through which I see the world.
I keep a little list of things I want to blog about, handwritten in ink in my business folder. And if a few days go by, I find time to sit down and write one of those stories down, unless something else has hijacked my thoughts. I feel better when I write. I dare say I love it. And whether it is read by 2 or 2000, it feels wonderful to share, and amazing to love what I’m doing.
Sometimes, on days like today, I don’t have anything to say, so I let my fingers start clacking and I find myself writing out about what I’ve already written, and realizing that, perhaps, I don’t always have something to say. But that too feels okay.
Today is Valentine’s Day, and I have a somewhat quiet spirit. There are several things out there, on the horizon, fishhooks that I’ve tossed forward and that I hope something will bite and that I will be able to reel it in. I may be on the cusp of something wonderful, regarding the book or the documentary. Or I may just have more ahead of me of the wonderful that already is, with my clients, my children, my boyfriend, my goals. Either way it is a beautiful world.
And there will always be more to say, but for now, for today that is enough.
Happy Valentine’s Day.