I was talking to my grandpa today, about one thing or another, and I heard him say something I hope to never forget.
There are certain people I love talking to. Some people can tell stories and jokes and speak life into you with normal mid-afternoon conversation. These are the type of people who help me to remember how extraordinary words are, and how extraordinary humans can be with their words.
On a really good day, I’ll catch someone sharing a bit of their heart to me, and I’ll have to look away and close my eyes for a second to take in the immensity of what I’ve just been given. It’s a small moment, it passes quickly. But it’s beautiful, and it’s apparent. I pray to all the Gods you will ever believe in and the God I believe in, that you experience this.
God is too quiet sometimes. Maybe He wants me to stop talking so I can hear him better. I’m not sure. When He does want me to know something, when there’s a particular message He needs me to receive, I know He sends the best messengers to do so.
It was breezy today. We were sitting outside, in swiveling wicker chairs. It was a perfect summer scene. My book felt heavy in my hand, so I let it rest in my lap as my fingers stayed placed in the page I last left off. They have an enormous tree that sits along the side of their fence, so naturally, my gaze fell easily on the swaying of its limbs.
Grandpa was asking me if I read a lot. He wanted to know if I enjoyed literature and what I enjoyed reading. As I explained how much I adore glimpsing into the pains and joys of others, through their own words and at their own pace, he took a second to nod and looked over his left shoulder as he murmured,
“The greatest thing that ever happened to me was falling in love. After I did, everything fell into place. Everything felt minuscule beside it.”
As I told you before, I had to look away and close my eyes for a second and smirk and breathe. We went on to talk about the lack of control we have over our lives. How vulnerable we are in our pursuits to cultivate a strong and consistent way of being.
All my life, I’ve been under the impression being strong and under-control and progressive was necessary. In doses, depending on what you’re doing and why you’re doing it, maybe it is. I’m coming to terms with the surprises life offers you when you submit to your weaknesses, your vulnerabilities, your lack of control.
When I’m older, I’m not sure what I will consider to be the greatest thing that ever happened to me. For sure, I know it won’t be my ability to hold my ground, or my knack for sorting out my chaos in labeled rows and columns. Maybe it will be falling in love. Maybe it will be accepting my vulnerabilities.
Maybe it’ll be a bit of both.