Real Love

“What is REAL?” asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you – and a stick out handle?”  “REAL isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse – “It’s a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time – not just to play with – but REALLY loves you, then you become real.”  “Does it hurt?” asked the rabbit.  “Sometimes,” said the skin horse – for he was always truthful “When you are REAL, you don’t mind being hurt.”  “Does it happen all at once, like being wound up” he asked – “or bit by bit?”  “It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the skin horse.  -  “You become.  It takes a long time.  That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily – who sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept.  Generally, by the time you are REAL, – most of your hair has been loved off – your eyes drop out – you get loose in the joints and very shabby.  But these things don’t matter at all, because, once you are REAL you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”  “I suppose you are REAL?” said the Rabbit.  And then he wished he had not said it – for he thought the skin horse might be sensitive – But the skin horse only smiled.  “The Boy’s Uncle made me REAL,” he said.  “That was a great many years ago – but once you are REAL you can’t become unreal again.”   
The Velveteen Rabbit  Margery Williams (1881-1944)

Love is a strange contradiction of being beautifully ugly.  It's not always pretty.  What is wonderful about it is how unconditional love means you are real with that special person.  You have removed your mask and as you love and are loved, more and more of the false pretense is chipped away.  As the falsity is chipped away, you may find other bits of yourself are chipped away too.

But, that is what makes unconditional love so utterly transfixing.  We should always be evolving and adapting to the world around us and in the lives we live.  As we share a journey with another they will hopefully help us to become the person we want to be and can be.  It means facing ugly truths at times and it means parts of ourselves we cling on to are torn from us.  This can create a wound, but from that wound comes healing.  There will be a scar but the scar reminds us of what was once there but no longer is.

I carry scars from the past, but in my current journey with the girl I love these scars remind me of how far I have come and evolved and grown as a person.  I have learnt some difficult truths, but these truths have enabled me to be a better partner, a better man for the woman I love and care for.  I have learnt that in order to truly love, you need complete integrity with yourself.  I used to look in the mirror and hate what I saw, but Carmen, my friends, great therapy and honesty with myself has enabled me to look confidently at my reflection and find peace in what I see.

We are not a finished product.  We are beautifully ugly.

Waste of Space

"You're a waste of space."

Words are powerful. Words are liberating.  Words can be damaging.

It is incredible what words can do and how much power they can hold.  We should step carefully with the words we use because they have the potential to build us up or tear us apart.  We can flippantly say something, but its impact can be far reaching and disabling.

I think a lot and analyse everything.  Anything said to me can stay with me and I'll chew it over and over and over.  I'll break down each word of the sentence and look for something deeper - something hidden.  I'll evaluate the tone of voice, the speed it was said and the look in the eyes.  It sounds obsessive but it's like I'm wired that way.

Someone called me a waste of space the other day and I was amazed at its impact.  It knocked me off balance and I felt myself shrink slightly.  I KNOW I'm not a waste of space and I am confident of who I am and what I am capable of.  What words like these do though is allow The Intruder a little doorway in.  He's able to wrap his bony fingers around the door and open it slightly.  I can see his putrid breath coming out of the ajar door I have locked him behind and whispering the words, "waste of space," again and again like a sick little mantra.  Occasionally he interjects this amusing (to him) mantra with stabbing reminders of where I have failed despite my words to suggest otherwise.

How's your book?  Not published yet?
Thought you were advancing your career?
Still taking happy pills?

I am happy with so many aspects of my life and I know I'm happy because I'm not trying to be happy.  I am loved and cared for; I am understood; I am accepted; I am appreciated; I'm in love with a wonderful girl.  The Intruder reminds me though of what I have failed to achieve and words like those spoken the other day make me wobble in my own self belief.  I don't want to be the guy who tried to make his dreams come true but fell to earth and saw his dreams shatter in the fall.

I want to fly to those dreams and soar with them.

Words can be powerful.

Tread carefully with your words for they hold the power to build or destroy.

Peace. x

The Race

Breathless.  Every sinew feels like it is about to burst.  My chest is tight and my heart is pounding.  I want to give up and stop; I want to collapse and allow my body to crumple.  I can't though; I mustn't.  Failure because of fatigue is the mentality of a loser.  Collapsing because your body is screaming to stop is the mark of a person with no will and no endurance.  When your mind and body informs you that you can travel no further you must not believe the insipid lies.  There is always a bit more in you, there is always a reserve tank and you must not give up.

Failure.

It is the motivating word.  It drives you to smash such a word into smithereens and cast it into oblivion.  Failure does not exist and will never exist in my world.  If I fall down then I have given in and allowed the lies to creep in and stab me in the brain.  It won't happen - I am not a product of past failures and disappointments.

Breathless.  My body is screaming for me to stop and move to a place of rest.  I cannot rest I cannot stop.  I need to reach my goal before my body is too old and my mind too weak.  I have to push myself beyond everything I have ever known because in the blink of an eye and the click of a finger I will be sitting in a chair, staring out a window trying to remember who I am and what I achieved.  I will be that man who shares stories about what he once did and how good he once was.  I will be the man who shares the same stories again and again because he only has a handful of stories from things he did fifty years ago.  "When I was in...", "When I worked at...", "I once met..."

Forgotten.

It won't be me and it won't be a word that describes my life.  My gravestone will not be blank or contain a vague quote which may or may not refer to who I was.  So, I must keep running and I must keep pushing myself to the very edge.  Almost the edge of reason.

Breathless.  My mind is screaming to stop.  I am running against myself and I am competing against a phantom of failure.  The phantom glides into my consciousness telling me it won't be long until I can run no more and soon it will be over for me.  Got to keep running and got to reach that goal.

I look down and see.

I am running on the spot.  I am going nowhere.  I am only racing myself.  And who can win in such a race?