About two years ago, Nadia and I were having a conversation, and she asked me, what woman’s name would be on my lips, if I were laying on my death bed? Every once in a while I reflect on that question, and the answer keeps changing.
It’s not a morbid thought to think. It’s not a question about death, but rather, it’s a question about love. They say that when you can’t run, you walk. When you can’t walk, you crawl. When you can’t crawl… you find someone to carry you.
I’ve been thinking about the ‘Attachment’ article I wrote a couple of days ago. Something about it hasn’t been sitting well with me. Then Shawn sent me an email last night, saying he read it, and thought I was just being a chicken shit. I think maybe he’s right.
Caring about something or someone without attaching myself is generally a good principal to follow. But what happens if I can’t crawl? Who’s going to carry me? Who’s name would be on my lips?
For me to give up so much of my power to someone else, to allow myself to become so vulnerable that she could devastate me with the slightest glancing blow, yet soar above the clouds with the tenderest touch… it’s the scariest thing I have ever experienced. I’d much rather be the one swooping in, being the big hero, fixing everything, carrying her to the top of the mountain if that’s what it would take.
I guess it only works when it works both ways.