Trying to Escape Valentine's Day and Failing Miserably

(This isn't really about Valentine's Day, but darned if that damn holiday didn't just jump up and bite me, so it seemed a good time to publish this piece.)

Love Like a Woman

A while back I viewed a photo of some soldiers having just gotten off a troop transport, and in the foreground was a woman, with her two children in tow, running across the tarmac to get to her man. The woman was moving away from the camera, so you couldn’t see her face, but you just knew that at that moment, her whole world, her whole reason for existence, was to love her man. And if she didn’t get to hold him and crush him to her at that very instant, that she would not just die, but cease to exist. What it must feel like to be so consumed by love that loving engulfs you, takes away your heart, soul, and very breath? It must be like turning into pure energy, as if that woman was about to burst into a brilliant light, a bolt of lightning, a heat seeking missile locked on his heart. What a lucky guy.

I want to love like a woman. Men don’t love like that. Yes, we love, we feel it kindle inside but rather than succumb to the pure experience of it, we contain it, control it, hide it, use it to our own advantage, twist it, warp it, inflict wounds with it, especially the self-inflicted kind, and then we stand back and watch in disbelief as it dies. Oh, how strong we are, we men. We stand powerful and solitary, and live and die weak and lonely.

I want to love like a woman. I have been loved like that once in my life of 61 odd years, but it was many years ago, and not recognizing it for what it was, in my youth, ignorance, and imperfect manhood, I killed the very thing I longed for and did not know how to hold. It may be possible that I could know again that fire and oh so lucky to burn in it’s awesome heat. I didn’t believe it could happen twice, but I am starting to think I was wrong. A few months back, I looked in a lover’s eyes and saw in her the glory of possibilities, the joy and pain of an all-consuming passion, and I thought that if only I can nurture this thing, hold it safe from the harm that only I am capable of inflicting, that maybe, just maybe, I would be worthy of it, worthy of her.

Or maybe not.

What I discovered was that there is a flip side to loving unconditionally. The person you think you love might just not be ready for you. My guess is that any woman reading this is now saying, “Duh?” But for me, this was a painful lesson, and it caused me to pull back to my customary manly boundaries.

But having felt the singular joy of flying without a net, I am greedy for that experience again. Only maybe the next time I will ease my way to the edge of the precipice, dunk my toe in the water before plunging in, crawl before walking, walk before running, or any other metaphor you can think of for taking things slowly, yet still end up at some point flying across that tarmac. Yes, I want to love like a woman, but I might just have to sneak up to that point of no return.

So now I’ve met someone new, and as they say, we are an item. We are both bearing the burden of each other’s losses, and helping each other heal. We are good together, that much is certain, and I suspect that she has moved a little faster than I, and is patiently waiting on the launch pad for me to catch up. I’m not all that far behind. I am hopeful that someday soon I will be ready to let this woman climb into my heart, where she will reach me, touch me, burn me, and send that same heart soaring along with hers. Now that would be something to write about, to sing about, to scream out to the universe of my joy and redemption.

Yes, I want to love like a woman.

I want to love a woman like that.