It's just as difficult for me to believe, but it's here: the first post of a series entitled "unofficially" "The Quest for True Love". It's a series of a journal entries written at The Anchor. All handwritten and all typed out and put on here for all the world to see (for better or worse). The series is inspired by some internal wrestling and meditation that took place sometime in late August; "the ninth week" if you care to know (I know you probably don't). Thus these are "outdated", but honestly nothing much has changed since then, and what I write now mirrors, albeit fragmented at times, what's going on in my heart. Some of these posts will be long (oh so long!) and some will be short. The length generally depends on (a) the specific subject matter, and (b) how long I was able to actually write at The Anchor before rushing off to work. So here are my handwritten journals for your reading pleasure. Please don't judge me.
You can be overwhelmingly infatuated with someone—fools call it “love”—and then you see this person years later and find yourself unmoved. “What the hell was I thinking?” you ask yourself while nonchalantly checking the time and ticking off the minutes to your anticipated departure. So many factors plug into what “draws” us to a person “in that special way,” and when some of these factors change, the “drawing” (as it were) will disintegrate. It’s rare to be irrevocably drawn to someone, not see them—or even talk to them—for months (sometimes to the point that they become a relic of a past life, a haunting memory whose features slowly morph so that you’re left remembering not a person but an idea), and then randomly, totally out-of-the-blue, you reconnect and it's like nothing's changed.
Am I the sort of person who finds meaning in everything (even when there’s no meaning to be had)? Yes. Some find this strange, others find it admirable. I’ll call it both a curse and a blessing, a double-edge sword fluidly cutting to expose inner realities formerly unknown.
Chances are we’ll become wrapped up in our own little worlds and what was today will just be next year’s forgotten memory. That’s the reality. But what I feel is that these days could become a bench-mark, fond memories to be recalled, the fork in the road which, if taken, can lead to uncharted territories and unknown vistas, and she and I can become New World cartographers plunging like spelunkers into a previously unknown world rich with adventure and tom-foolery, and like vines we could grow up and old. Two paths becoming one, two streams becoming a river, two off-kilter paintings meshed together into a masterpiece unimagined but now self-evident.
I’ve ran the gauntlet with girls. I dated four—Genna, Faith, Clare, and Elle—and pursued but got nowhere with two others (Sarah and Jessica). The four I dated, why did I break up with them? Ultimately, and most of all, it just didn’t “feel right.” There’s more to it, but not less. And what would’ve happened with Sarah and Jessica? I would’ve broken up with Sarah, unable to trust her and driven mad by it; and while Jess and I may have had a shot, I’m pretty sure we would’ve just driven one another to the brink of insanity. The point of all this being, every girl I’ve dated—or even liked—hasn’t reached that point in my heart and mind as this other girl. Not that they were dysfunctional in any way (‘cept for a few), but this girl and I connected on such a level that the connection, despite years of absence, hasn’t missed a beat. And I’ve yet to find this connection again, though I crave it.
Instead of getting all sad that I haven’t found a girl as great as her, a path which can lead down the rabbit hole to settling for come what may, I can have hope. Hope that despite the dead-ends, the empty promises, and the downtrodden dreams, despite the backstabbing and betrayals, despite the disquieting disillusionment formed from the muddied ash of messed-up relationships and a life starved of eucalyptus, despite all this, there’s hope. There can’t only be one of her; the chances of us connecting are too slim for that in a world topped-over with billions of people (thanks to the Chinese—and to the Catholics—exact numbers of the world’s population are unknown). I mustn’t and cannot settle; I must not fight for an ideal that may be framed as logic only in the spider’s web of our imaginations, I must fight for what I know to be real, what I know to be true: that there are people with whom I can connect, love, and grow with. The cynicism and skepticism that so permeates my perceptions of things begins to weaken under the piercing rays of what I’ve called “A Lie” coming into its own as “Reality.” Hope is stronger than resignation, and even the depths of my disillusionment are shallow as a kiddie pool with the advent of her.
Look: I know with 95% certainty that she and I will never be more than friends. This isn’t me whining ‘bout how she’s gone and I want her and how life’s so unfair and all we can do is try and deal with it as best we can. But what if my interpretation of reality is ultimately flawed, and she’s now so much throwing a stick into the gears but illuminating the weak points of my perception. I denied (and continue to deny) the idea of “a perfect marriage” with “the one God has for you,” and I’ve denied the validity of such a thought and even gone so far as to make the assumption that any hope for a supra-connection, a metaphysical and supra-spiritual relationship between two people, is a ridiculous thought. I’ve always called such “chemistry” nothing but physiological impulses interpreted through a certain set of lens endowing them with greater meaning, a meaning transcending the fact that this “chemistry” is biological in nature and that, in the end, our reasons for any sort of relationship—platonic or romantic—are wholly selfish (we choose our “mates”—in both the Australian and Animal Planet senses—based on how they make us feel, what we can get from them, etc; relationships thus become just another feeding ground for egotistical and self-centered brutes).
And while I’m convinced that such a rule remains in most cases, she’s there again, a kink in the machine. A girl like her, that’s what I’m looking for. The kind of girl you’d give up everything for, change your life for. She’s the kind of girl I can see myself growing old with, doing ministry and maybe even popping out some kids. I don’t anticipate any of this happening with her specifically, but I know that if there’s one, there’s got to be another. God would be cruel to have only one of her here. I look forward to the day I find and love a girl like her, the day my cynicism will crumble like a sandcastle under the new dawn’s tide. I look forward to the day when the sun will rise on a new chapter in these koalabeast chronicles, a day when I will love and be loved and share my life with another.
Not, as an aside, that I think this (hopeful) new chapter will be a garden paradise. Love’s cemented in commitment, sacrifice, and service, not in some super-spiritual, mystical connection. And I know that the best marriages are fraught with their troubles and trials, and the cruel chaos and irrevocable uncertainties of “this present evil age” won’t take a vacation. Life’s tough, love’s tough, marriage is tough. To think otherwise is to allow Optimism to become Fantasy (which, by definition, is an illusion), that’s always a problem, and usually you don’t notice the problem ‘till the damage has been done. I’m a reality who’s hopeful (or at least that’s what I’m trying to be), so learn the difference.
These past months have been fraught with questioning, confusion, and doubt. The stress of it all has been overwhelming at times, and my attempts to dispel the present darkness through logic and resignation have failed time after time. “Kill the root, kill the tree.” But some trees are damned resilient, bursting into life right when you thought you’d finally pulled it off. Disillusionment led to resignation, and I painted it up as logic to justify the philosophical leap. The reality is that, while I may deny it, I’ve taken my deepest and most innate desires and sought to snuff them out of existence, crucifying them on the altar of Tears & Regret. But being with her today, I’ve felt these desires again. I thought I’d starved them off, but they refuse to die. More than anything I wish to one day find a wife, share my life with her, maybe even have a family (I can swing either way on that at the moment; really, the answer depends on who the mom would be more than anything else). That’s what I want more than anything, and being with her today, there came in her eyes a laugh and smile and a time of refreshment, rejuvenation. “You don’t always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need.”
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