Falling in Love, what a bizarre phrase
I romanticize the idea of romantic love. I have never felt it before, but I’ve watched The Notebook a handful of times already, which is essentially the equivalent of saying I have a LinkedIn certificate on love.
Falling in Love. I romanticize the “love” part, but in reality, the “falling” part has taken up much of my attention.
When I find something I enjoy – a passion project, an idea, a thought I want to ponder and explore – I am in suspension. Falling. I experience a dreadful uncertainty and I suspend in the air, yet so full of potential and freedom. Uncertain of where I will land. A certain destination that I hope will be a better place and make me a better person. I don’t finish every project I fall in love with – but I am often very good at jumping out of the plane – sometimes unsure if I remembered to pack a single parachute when you’re supposed to bring two. This year I’ve jumped out of a few planes. Notably, one plane where I hope to fall into an extremely fit and healthy body.
I am not in love. I am falling. I am constantly falling – towards a fabricated fantasy that I’ve created based on books, poems, movies, and Bruno Major songs that inspire me to continue falling.
What I’ve realized through the years is that the most important destination – the destination I am falling towards and one that I hope I land on – is self-love. As cliché as it sounds, you have to love yourself 100%, more than 100%, before you find more elsewhere.
And so I may be falling. I hope the destination I land on is kind and warm like I always dreamed of. But, meanwhile, as I suspend in the air, I will enjoy the view, and continue working on myself: mind, body, and soul. And I will work on getting to a point in my life where I always have two parachutes. And if I ever forget, thankfully, I have the power of philosophical fabrication, with a little magic, to create parachutes on the go.
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