Love. It’s all about the love.
I’ve been toying with this post for a while now, meaning to write it, then getting sidetracked with less important, but easier to write and prettier to look at posts. You know what it’s like when you really want to say something, you lose all sense of vocabulary.
Or is that just me?
The last few weeks have made me realise that it’s now or never. Say it before it’s too late. We don’t know what’s around the corner for any of us and, no matter how often we throw the phrase “life is too short” around, it’s not until something happens to make you physically see, with your own eyes, that it really is too short to waste.
Manchester & London. ♥
Both attacks hit home, hard. Every attack we’ve witnessed makes us want to hug our loved ones tighter, but these two, for me, even more so.
Manchester. They targeted children. Children the same age as my two, out having fun, enjoying music. Something my babes are obsessed with, something we had done just a week and a bit before at the O2. It could have so easily been us.
London Bridge. The bridge my husband crosses twice a day, every single day. It could have so easily been us.
It could have been us. But it wasn’t. We are the lucky ones. The people who get to watch the attacks unfold on TV, safe at home with our children in bed. The ones who get to say good morning to our husbands and wives the next day. The ones who get to carry on moaning about the unimportant shit going on in our lives like the weather, or the lack of parking, the price of petrol. The people who’s lives have changed in the blink of an eye would give anything to be in our shoes right now.
Every moment in our life is a choice. We can wake up and decide if we’re in a good mood, or a stinking one. If we want to eat healthily or eat fast food all day. Whether we smile at a stranger or curse them for getting in our way. We can either choose to love, or hate. Every single moment of our own life, we have a choice.
What would happen if we always chose love? It wouldn’t be easy, of course. There are times when all of us, saintly or not, want to strangle someone, tell them exactly what they’re doing wrong and how they should fix it. We wouldn’t be human if that wasn’t the case. It’s not easy but it is worth it.
Love expects us to do the hard stuff. Forgive. Support, even the crazy dreams, comfort during the hardest of times. Care. Be patient. Love isn’t really all that pretty. It’s dirty, sleeves rolled up, ready to fight. It’s a deliberate choice, for better or for worse.
When we come face to face with a battle, a decision to make, when we are looking at a situation that feels impossible to fix and we just want to run away, that’s when we choose love. Real love is an unconditional commitment to an imperfect person, an imperfect situation.
Sometimes the last thing we want to do is love. We resent it. We’re so tired of everything else going on in our lives, and everything we have left to do, there’s no patience left, and we don’t even know if we have any love left in us. But we do it anyway. That’s real love.
We can’t control how other people feel or think. We can only choose for ourselves. But if all of us chose the same, then it would be fixed pretty bloody fast.
I told you it was a hard one to do.