Love--it really is worth the fall, so take the leap.

So, I seem to have found myself with love on the brain this week. All sorts of it.

It started over the last weekend as my husband prepared for a trip I didn't want him to take. He rarely travels, and over the last 15 years, I had kind of developed that same feeling that many wives do about their husbands going out of town--girl time, down time, my time. I think it came as a shock to both of us how much I didn't want even a few days of separation this time around.

We've been in what some people would think of as a weird place lately. Our marriage, which is typically a pretty well-oiled machine of partnership has become something a little more organic. Right now, it's more like what happens when a couple of trees root very near each other, and gradually start growing together. What happens if you try to split those trees? Nothing good.

It seems to me that we all have a person in our lives, at any given time, that puts down roots with us in some way. It's not always a marriage or even a great love affair. Sometimes, it can even just be a great friendship. That person is the one who makes an effort to pick you up when you don't want to get up. They're your go to when everything else seems to have gotten up and left.

While it may be overstating the obvious about a spouse being "your person," of late, Jeph has become more so than usual, because I've crawled back into a place where I live a lot in my head. He's really the only person I know right now who has a key. There are a small handful of people who knock, but for the most part, no one else even mistakenly pulls into the drive.

For whatever reason during the time apart this week, I have been bombarded by love.

A truly dear friend of mine has been traveling in our shared spiritual home. She invited me to come along, but the timing wasn't right for me. In spite of my inability to make the trip, she has shared every green moment with me, and I have felt very much a part of her journey. Much to both of our surprises, she found someone there who really touched her heart. It's the foundation of a great story, because it's true.

Cover art for Soul Seeker. Sorcha coming to life.

As I have been traveling with her vicariously, I have been editing my own love story. Through the process, I have found myself being very critical about my characters' path. How many pages into a novel is it appropriate for two people to fall in love? In my book, it only takes 21. Does that mean I'm easy? Does that mean there is no depth to my story? I don't know. I just finished the last page--probably not for the last time--and I felt myself wanting to change the ending. I found myself wanting to give them more hope in the face of the horrible fate to which I had sentenced them. Who am I to judge if they should be together forever or not? It's not my eternity. It's theirs.

It has me thinking that there is no right answer about love and when it becomes real. It's different for everyone and for every situation.

For a few weeks last year, I started to fall in love with the future of being a mother, even though nothing in my body was telling me that that future was real yet. In almost a year since then, the pain of losing that love hasn't become any less, just because it lasted for so little time. Being told over and over that it will happen again doesn't give me much comfort. It's still a love lost.

It only takes a moment for the seeds of family to take root.

In a weird twist to this week, I learned of the passing, just a few days ago, of a grandmother whom I barely knew. I can literally count on one hand the number of times I was around her. All of those times were awkward, because my father had chosen not to be a part of my life, and had royally mucked everything up when he changed his mind. In spite of his ineptitude in being real with me and trying to figure things out, his mother always made an effort to let me know that in spite of how I got there, I belonged. No matter how few times I encountered her, I have never forgotten her quiet elegance and composure in every situation, no matter how weird. In a way, I loved her, even though I barely had the chance to know her. She was family, maybe in a greater sense than many relatives who've been around throughout my life. But I think most people would find it ridiculous that there was enough there for me to mourn.

It's easy to pick out the "loves" that seem appropriate to us and to point fingers at the ones that don't. There are many instances in which we have to make choices, and we feel like following our hearts is the wrong decision for whatever reason.

Maybe it's a choice about whether we get on a train heading to Wicklow, or we stay in Ballybunion for another couple of days with someone we just met. Maybe it's whether we welcome someone home from a trip by unleashing our wrath about being left alone too long, or we open our arms. And maybe it's whether 21 pages is too soon for two strangers to be inseparable.

I think the questions are simple.

Would you rather spend two days gazing at a mountain range alone, or two days with someone who might end up meaning everything to you? Would you rather spend four days alone, than spend four more alone with the person you missed in the other room? Would you rather spend 218 pages waiting to see if they're going to fall in love or not, or 197 pages falling in love with them?

These are the questions of the day.

We all have a ticket. There are trains going everywhere. But we won't ever see anything if we don't get on. Love, no matter how we find it, is always worth a risk.

Sometimes it's going to end badly, and leave us in a hovel. Sometimes it's going to be grand and last a lifetime. If you think about it, in a world of so much uncertainty, struggle and strife, how many pages into our own lives can we afford to wait?

Love is Worth the Fall--OAR

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