The moments you create when you connect with someone are still the most worthwhile, even if by their very nature they leave us exposed.
It's easy to be romantic about beginnings. It's the part when others let go that I haven't quite grasped, but I'm not sure I want to. People experience these moments in which they connect, create beautiful memories, and then just as easily leave them behind. There comes a time when you figure out that a meaningful connection doesn't come around as often as we once believed. When that time comes and you happen to come across someone with whom you connect, it’s worthwhile to make time for them. Otherwise, you can screw it up; they can fade, pass you by—misconnect.
In a world where it’s easy to live for ourselves, to me, the moments you create when you connect with someone are still the most worthwhile, even if by their very nature they leave us exposed. Cultivating a connection doesn't always come easy; we don't get to choose where and when we find them. But the idea of something worth fighting for, itself entails the possibility of not being successful. When you’re lucky enough to stumble upon someone with whom you connect, you should treasure the opportunity that it holds for another moment where what matters is neither one person nor the other, but the space they share. To misconnect because it’s a fight you might not win or because circumstances are less than ideal is a tragedy, because you can never replace a connection you found. No two are the same.
We all lead our lives in ways that we believe will make us a little more happy or a little more loved.
Each person with whom you connect is an anthology of beautiful details that for an enchanted moment in time combine with all the details that shape you, to create something unique. And I'm obsessed with the details. I cherish things so specific to each person that move me, and that I miss, and will always miss. Like I remember the way the red in your beard sparks with the sunset. I miss that. It's crazy, right?
Connections each leave an impression on my heart, and while others leave them behind, I'm no longer the same. I use the illusion of fitting together with someone the way it feels to put your hand in the pocket of an old winter coat to justify my apathy toward anything less. We meet people that are interested in us and surely they’re nice, but maybe they need itineraries or think naps are time-wasted and Disney movies are childish. And none of those things are bad—we could learn to accept them. But the real beauty in those moments is they lead us to appreciate the rare occasions upon which we discover someone whose peculiar details artlessly fall in place with our own. It makes me believe that connections, although few and far between, are worth waiting for.
Beautiful things come from pain, we just have to be open to them.
We all lead our lives in ways that we believe will make us a little more happy or a little more loved. Sometimes we believe the answer is to protect our hearts from pain, but I've learned pain isn't always a bad thing. Beautiful things come from pain, we just have to be open to them. We only live each day once and we can very well choose to protect ourselves from uncertainty and keep our hearts intact, but life shouldn't be about getting to the finish line unscathed. Scars are part of the details I love in a person; each tells a story of passion, or trial, or strength. But the will to take risks seldom wins the battle against a weary heart.
Weary hearts often take comfort in fate and the notion that someone somewhere has a plan for us, and that that plan will come together in time. We count on the future as though it owes us instead of conceding to it a helping hand. But in a flash of courage, we can choose to fight obstacles in our path and shape our destinies. Otherwise, any space left for 'us' is swallowed up by notions that to merit effort, connections should be convenient—at least enough to outshine the complacency born from the pretext of another place and time. And a connection like ours is worth holding onto. But I could never hold onto it alone.