We aim ourselves at success in odd ways, call ourselves triumphant with bizarre bars we set ourselves, never do we ask why. We think arriving is the point, think finishing the adventure is the point of it all, forgetting the oldest of old cliches, that it's not about where you end up, but how you get there. It’s the journey, friends, not the destination. Love is this way, I’ve been thinking lately, precisely this way. We set milestones for love, maybe anniversaries, maybe different grand romantic gestures, maybe declarations of a certain magnitude. Often, we even set the understanding of this love as a guidepost worth reaching for, hoping that those we love will see it and learn it and know it as though it was their own. Fruitless, I believe this, impossible and misguided.
Love, to me, is not in the complete and total understanding of it by the one we love, no, it’s the attempt along the way. It’s the choice each day to wake and to try, to give our all in the explanation of our emotional connection, and the gentle realization that they’ll never truly know, for what’s our is ours alone, and what’s theirs, stays.
If we realign expectations to this, to not the destination but the journey, not the triumph but the participation in the battle at all, I think everything can change. We try harder, we slow down more, we notice everything. It’s not the understanding, it’s the attempt, and my goodness I will try.
She won't understand
but I will try anyway.
Love is the attempt.
Haiku on Life by Tyler Knott Gregson
Song of the Day
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