I have this favorite chair, with everything I need around me. A little table nearby holds my books, papers, my headphones and other assorted knickknacks, a journal I wish I would write in more often than I do. My phone is on the armchair so if I get a text or anything it lights up, and sometimes that’s really all I need to feel like I do exist.
I have this world here around me that lives by a routine familiar in homes across America. There’s a puppy running about finding life, their security in knowing these two human beings she sees every day will keep her safe and she will try to make them both happy, just by being an animal of unconditional love. Right now she’s on the hunt, looking for one of probably a half a dozen tennis balls strewn throughout the house. Her distraction, her toy, her training – ‘Go get the ball, now drop it,’ – everyone’s happy.
Yet, something is missing, and has been for quite some time. I have lived in a world where I have forever tried to define who I am based upon the world around me. Sometimes it works and other times it leaves me devastated and rather lonely. Over the years I’ve grown to understand this isn’t singular, that a lot of people experience the same thing We all just deal with loneliness in a different manner than each other. That really is what it is, and it is the reason I do cry sometimes. It is that element of loneliness that exists in my life.
On the outside and actually it isn’t always hidden as well as I would like, lives a man who carries himself well as an advisor of students, makes decisions that impact their lives in ways he might never imagine, but does so in as gracious a manner as possible. He is a passionate man, one that believes in love and happiness, and feels that everyone should contribute to the happiness of those around them as well as themselves. If these tenets are not lived out then this man takes that negative outcome personally and believes he has failed the world around him. Then come the tears.
Then comes the helpless onslaught of emotion that he has never quite gotten a handle upon. Sitting in his chair, isolated in his own world, a commercial comes on TV that talks about living out our dreams, and he holds onto quiet tears not allowing anyone nearby to notice. He might walk into another room, and be so overcome with emotion he gasps at the reality of his despondence and cannot give anyone a reasonable reason why. Honestly he is unable to give himself a reason why, except to suggest to himself he has allowed love to become the central focus of his life.
I cry sometimes – a love story.
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