Monday, September 21, 2009

"I Want to Love Like Breathing"

This song is on Out of the Gray's album Diamond Days.  You should go read the lyrics now.  They're a sort of prayer for me right now especially because one of the questions I've been wrestling with lately is as follows:

"Can I love?"

By this I mean, "Am I capable of loving?" 

I am wired quite oddly.  If you want to understand some of my quirks, I recommend the entertaining and interesting book Party of One: A Loner's Manifesto by Rufus.  Some people are created to enjoy their own company way more than the company of others, and I'm one of them.  I like being one of them.

But there is a part of me that is so very cold and detached that it scares me spitless sometimes.  If I let that part take over, well, bad things could happen quite easily.  This icy numbness leaks through when I don't hide it.  I don't really have the energy any more to hide it.  It is much easier to be a stone than to drag one around with you.

Since the "emotions" I deal with don't seem to conform to those of the people around me, I wonder if I am capable of loving them in ways that they recognize or that are meaningful to God (and me). 

Some day, I will pull together a fabulous essay about this topic, full of epic realizations and smooth transitions.  But for now, I will keep praying and writing one sentence questions as they occur to me.  I look forward to the day when I can be me and still "love like breathing."

Are you, too, sometimes so distracted by trying to do things right that you freeze up?  Do you think too hard about the meaning of things like love because you can't seem to grasp what it feels like?  Do you know what I mean when I talk about that cold observer part of myself?  Any other comments?


  1. I think I've experienced something like the cold observer part of oneself... it can be a sort of coach, on the sidelines, keeping you from getting so involved that you lose yourself, your focus, lose "the game" (whatever that means). Or it can be the hard shell that protects the soft, gooey middle. I think it must have some healthy role to play... when I've really noticed it, it's been in situations where I feel like I'm expected to act lovingly but don't actually trust the other person enough to just be myself.

    When I'm with a "safe" person, and I can be myself, just talk and act without editing everything I think and say, loving is more like breathing.

  2. That was quite beautifully put, my friend.