paris, france

Paris is the city of love, so i guess it's fitting that the word "love" and the meaning of it have been running through my head lately. I've probably mentioned before that I tend to overcomplicate or overthink things. well, I did it again. 

I got caught up in trying to figure out the meaning of life (still workin' on that one) and the logic behind things that I'd forgotten one of the things I value most: love. More than religion; more than finding answers to questions. After all, the reason I used to believe in religion or follow a certain path was because I ultimately believe in love. In putting others first. In caring and sharing well. In kindness. I, in my obsessing over which path I should take, had forgotten the point of journey. love. 

Sometimes love is practical. Making dinner for a friend or doing the dishes. Sometimes love is hard. Maybe forgiving someone or confronting them or doing what's best for them even when it sucks for you. Sometimes love is creative. Arranging flowers or writing a poem. Usually love is messy. I think it gets most messy when I start looking for what I can get out of love (which isn't love at all) and not what is best for the other human.  Love is messy because it requires you to take a step back from your instincts and think, then act upon that thought. Love isn't impatient, it isn't easy, it's not all butterflies, it definitely isn't mere sexual drives and it sometimes makes me feel like an idiot. 

These are all things I know . . .  but in the midst of it all, i was stagnant, not living it out loud. I don't want to be stagnant. I want to be full. Full of kindness for others, for myself, for the earth so I can set my heart on what I believe matters. love.