the love container
I don’t know how to do this newsletter. I started to write about a recent UCLA study that intrigued me, and it still does, but it didn’t feel right for today. To be honest with you, and I promised I would always be honest with you, nothing feels right for today, because today I will go to a memorial for one of my best people, for a person I met on the bus in the fourth grade.
I keep thinking about gratitude, about how when our hearts break the technicolor of the world can also get it. I think maybe I have been living with a broken heart for some years now, and that is such a gift. We always try to repair our hearts, but maybe they aren’t the real ones, so then we are walking around with our little pretend protective hearts weighed down with staples and duct tape. We rub against each other, and reach for little travel sewing kits, patch ourselves up and call ourselves healed, but maybe we are doing it all wrong.
Years ago while sitting across from a client I had a moment of clarity, but fell a bit short of words, and suggested to her that she start to expand her love container. Then she got naturally confused, and I could not believe that I had just said the words love container in session, but I still haven’t thought of a better way to say it. I think we all have a set point for how much love feels comfortable to give and receive in the world, and like all set points it takes a lot of work to change it. Love is scary, when too much gets in it can feel like an assault, like a watermelon shoving itself through a grapefruit, terrible, scary, and worst of all so so nice; so nice that what if we rely on that much love and then it goes away and we are left with a hungry longing starving heart?
But here’s the good news, love is our responsibility. There are so many things to love. Love is a practice, like gratitude, or golf. The world needs love, and I know you have so much of it; I am positive.
Get out a piece of paper and a pen and write down 100 things you love. If you can’t think of 100, just start. People, places, things, memories, anything at all.
I love Celeste. I will love her always. I will love the millions of moments that made up our friendship, every cup of coffee, every cigarette, every laugh, every fight, every single thing.
The world is here just waiting for you.
And also a little jenny’s top 8 with this messy little email.
I love you, Jen
Crescendo by Alaina Sullivan. LOVE.
