Maybe I’ll catch it, like the microbes of contagious disease. Maybe I’ll inhale it like second hand smoke on city streets. Maybe I’ll absorb it through osmosis or maybe it’ll just hit me like a soccer ball to the gut or a ton of bricks to the head.
But most probably not.
We choose to love. We don’t sit around and wait for the right feeling, inspiration or time, or we die waiting and unhappy. Or, if you’re like me, you burn two perfectly good months with the occupation of waiting.
I know quite well by now that the only kind of love is unconditional love. Simple enough concept. And yet every time I feel the slightest discomfort or tension I entertain the thought, Well he should _______. Find me a way that sentence ends well.
Nope, nothing unconditional and nothing loving there. Just a big old Please solve all of your problems on your own, sweetie, and when you’re done with that have a go at all my baggage too. Oh, and while you’re at it I could really use a glass of water and a hot pad.
You can practically smell the mature adult responsibility and unreserved concern for my husband’s happiness. Sometimes I really believe that my husband has to change the way he acts in order for me to be happy. Sometimes I really forget that I’m happiest when I’m caring for and serving others.
Right now I remember and right now I am making a commitment to live my life the right way. We can make love a pandemic, but only with the spread of our conscious choices.