People get mad a lot.
We should get mad. There are a lot of things wrong with the world. I get mad a lot, too.
I tend to gravitate towards strong arguments and heat. I like loud people with something to say. I appreciate a boisterous defense of what is right, and what is true. I like being challenged. I like being a challenge.
Sometimes, I'm tired, though. Sometimes I just want to go where the love is.
Maybe I will say something that will change the world for someone, I don't know. I don't have much control over who will love me and who won't. I can recognize when somebody really genuinely does love me, though, and I can go towards that love. I can acknowledge it, acknowledge that I am worthy of it, take comfort in it, and return it.
Going where the love is also means that I should gravitate towards things that I love.
I love my babies. Instead of scheduling us so that we're eating jelly sandwiches and changing clothes in the car, I should cuddle up with them and love them and love them and love them. I want to spend every moment of our lives together aware of our love, respectful of it and in awe of it. I want to say at the end of a day, "What did I do, today? I loved my girls."
There are things I love doing that get pushed to the bottom of all my neurotic, unfinished lists. I love writing stories. I could spend hours every evening in a writing trance, making up worlds and breaking imaginary hearts, but I don't. I take care of business, instead. What if I went toward my love of writing stories, instead of marginalizing it? It's an exciting idea.
I love using my imagination. I love words. I love sentences and how they're simple, but they could murder you, if you're not careful. I love water and sunshine. I love holidays; making decorations, baking things, creating quiet, holy memories. I love wrapping presents. I love the way the world smells; leaves and rain and my daughters' hair. I love tea and quiet. I love growing things. I love the market and the dirty, long haired boys playing guitar on the street. I love people and their sadness. I love sharing secrets, holding hands. I love lying in bed with the window open.
I need to go to where my love is, give myself permission to go to the things that will allow me to live a life of love.
Fighting for things comes easy to me. Explaining myself comes easy. Wanting things I can't have. Remembering things that are gone. Realizing that time is leaving me. Rushing to pick up pieces. Picking at the blisters on my heels.
Allowing myself to love and be loved is hard, sometimes, but there is love here. I need to go to where my love is.