Thinking Deep Thoughts

I am a swamp of emotions. Not just for my wife. She is in me and through me and all around me and sometimes I feel like I will burst if I can’t see her or touch her or tell her how much I love her.

But also for my friends. I see the face of a new parent, the love in a husband’s eyes, the simple, the complex, the need, the home.

I think I’m home now.

When did I come to know that shutting myself off wasn’t what I wanted or needed anymore? When did I realize that “my people” doesn’t have to be a small, inclusive group?

I don’t have to let everyone in, because I can’t. I have been hurt too much to let everyone see the real me, to let them have my time, and my love. But I don’t have to limit my heart and my love. I don’t have to push the wanting more away because I don’t know enough people that I can trust with me.

Because I do now. I have so many people that may only see the smallest glimmer of who I am, but there are others that see the more. While I want to share all of me with just one person, I can still share parts of me with more people.

I am who I am in large part to the friends I have chosen, or have had chosen for me. Would I be where I am if I hadn’t gone to the drive-in that June Saturday night? Would I be where I am if she hadn’t come to the theater to see that show? Certainly not. If I hadn’t opened myself more to the unknown, I wouldn’t have most of the people I love, respect, admire.

Did I wait too long to come to this? How many potential friends have I missed because of the need to hide, to fear, to wallow? How many do I have because someone wouldn’t let me?

Mostly, it’s her. It’s the need she has to be around like minds and similar souls. It’s battling the deep seated fear that they only tolerate me because they want to see her. It’s giving in to that fear sometimes. It’s holding on to the frightening because it is so familiar.

Why should it be so? Why should the negative be so easy to believe, when the positive is, maybe, possibly, true?

Because I don’t see what they see, maybe. Could it be that the people I love actually value the fact that I can quote most of the geekier movies and books I’ve devoured? Or that I say the answers on Jeopardy before Alex can finish reading the clue? Or that the happiest moments in my life come from seeing someone I love using something that I made?

It’s ridiculous. To hold on to the feeling that I am less because I’m not a size 3 or a neat freak or wealthy or an Einstein or a Mozart or a Curie or a Da Vinci or….

I’m not less than anyone else. I matter. And while I will never actually know how much I matter to some people, I know that I am loved. And, I may never been as comfortable in a crowded room as I am sitting in bed, reading a book, I still matter.

She thinks I’m beautiful, and crazy, and sexy, and smart. She thinks I’m one of the best things going. Who knows? She might be right.

Or she might be crazy. Haven't discounted that yet.