Love Lesson Learned

You know that relationship you had when you were twenty? You were in college, on your own, making decisions, learning the lessons of life as you plunged headlong into it. Fearless. Foolish. Fun. You knew it was a bad idea to take even that irresistable second look at him, but that's precisely why you had to. You discovered aspects of yourself during this reckless and passionate interlude that you had no idea were lurking in there, under your high school drama club hoodie and white bikini cotton panties that your mother bought for you at JC Penney. It was all wild and wonderful and blissful and breathless and you fell hard. So hard. Maybe it lasts just a few weeks over summer break, or maybe as long as a couple of years. And just as incautiously and without warning it had begun, it was over. You're utterly devastated. And just like in the beginning, eating and sleeping become secondary. In that onrushing crush of pheromones and flesh, such mundane activities seemed trivial and hardly worth the time. You had been transformed into an ethereal creature who could live on just the air and love. But as it ended, these things have been rendered all but impossible, you want to rest but sleep cannot be summoned, no matter how exhausted your mind and body have become. You struggle to eat but food has lost its visceral pleasure. You might as well be chewing and choking down a forkful of dusty rubber bands. Seeing him from a distance sends a jagged bolt of memory through you so intense that you quiver uncontrollably and swear there ought to be visible wounds. You think you will die. You don't wish to expire, but you wonder how such pain and loss can be born by your heart and the aching body that contains it and survive. The darkness does lift, though, the resilience of youth pulls you through. Life goes on, you heal, you love again. I seem to have gotten the chronology of my life out of order in this area, I waited until I was forty-five to experience knock-down, drag out love that completely and totally consumes you. I must confess that at a number of points in the last five years I thought I was over him, pretty much healed, hard lessons learned. But it wasn't until these last couple of days that I truly arrived at this place. Here. No more longing, no more anger, no more ragged vestiges of hope left alive. Calm and acceptance and relief are mine. I recommend having this particular transformative experience when you're young. Not only is the healing process shorter, but you have the benefit of knowlege gained that can be put to use next time you see that nearly irresistable gleam. It can't be said for certain, but I personally believe that I might have been better suited for marriage if I'd had this relationship earlier in life. Rites of passage aren't meant for the middle-aged, but I did learn a truth or two in the process. I realize that I chose my husband too much with my head. This love that nearly did me in I chose primarily with my hormones. Older and wiser, bruised but not broken, I'm ready to listen to and choose this next love with my heart.