This Much I Know is True: Part IV

Lesson # 6: Let people live in your heart.

I have long been fascinated by the relationship between love and fear. Love drives fear away. It makes us feel safe and brave enough to take risks. Fear, however, so often keeps us from letting people in and opening ourselves up to love. Somehow, the stinging memories of betrayal, rejection, and heartache blaze on in our psyche longer than the remembered delight of feeling free to be yourself, the butterflies of anticipation, the comfort of closeness; and those stinging memories so often elicit the fear that keeps love away.

There’s this beautiful documentary I watched this past year called Children Full of Life: http://youtu.be/1tLB1lU-H0M. If you haven’t watched it yet, I encourage you to check it out. It tells the story of Mr. Kanamori, an older Japanese teacher who mentors a group of 4^th graders to become empathetic, honest, happy children. At one point in the movie, when Mr. Kanamori is explaining the value of these “notebook letters” he asks his students to write everyday, he says something so wise and wonderful. He says, “Let people live in your heart. There is no limit on numbers.” I feel like this truth is something many of us need to hear- repeatedly. I know that I certainly need to be regularly reminded.

It’s funny how quickly we move into the mode of self-protection when our heart has been bruised and battered by misuse or neglect or disappointment. We create these long lists of rules for letting people in and even longer lists of reasons to keep people out, and if we do finally oh so tentatively grant entrance, we often offer only a halfway pass. And we do this not only with lovers and potential partners, but also sometimes with our friends and family. The vulnerability required by the act of letting someone into your heart is so effing scary, but I learned this year- and now believe it fully, from the very core of my being to the tips of my fingers and toes- that it is so worth it. Pretty much always. And I write it here so I won’t soon forget.

At the beginning part of this past year, there was a period where I spent quite a bit of time with someone, and it was good- easy, uncomplicated, good. But eventually it ended, as these things so often do. The interesting thing about this particular situation, though, is that while I was initially overwhelmed by the exhausting weight of disappointment, rejection, projected loneliness, and that feeling of loss that were all pressing down on my heart (and my ego), I very soon realized that it was totally worth it. His companionship, however short-lived, was worth it. The lessons I’d learned, the fun I’d had, the peace I’d gained, the confidence I’d grown, the steps I’d taken in trusting, letting go, letting in- all of it outweighed the heartache. I knew too that there would likely be many more moments of sadness to come. I knew that later I would probably look back and miss him and get this horrible sinking feeling of loneliness and longing deep down in my gut. I knew that probably sooner rather than later he would be enjoying the company of someone else and I would very likely feel the acute sting of jealousy and rejection. But even knowing all that was to come, I could still say with great conviction that it was okay. I was willing to sit through whatever sad spells might come my way because it was worth it.

Let me tell you what I know. I know that few things last forever. I know that 98% or 76% or 53% or some other significant percentage of relationships, whatever kind they may be, will end. I know that you will get hurt. That is an undeniable truth. You will possibly be betrayed or rejected or abandoned or replaced. You will probably at some point be misunderstood or criticized or get your feelings hurt. But I also know that from each person you let live in your heart- even if they are not your forever person or a long-term partner, even if they turn out in the end to be a cheating, lazy douchebag bastard- you will gain memories that weave new colours and plot twists into the story of you. You will learn important life lessons about yourself and the world around you, about communication, boundaries and intimacy (even if the lesson is simply how to more quickly spot a cheating, lazy douchebag bastard). You will try new food and listen to new music and make new friends and head out on exciting new adventures you’d otherwise never get to experience. And you will grow. You will grow in wisdom and empathy and confidence and in your capacity to love. You will become a better you. As far as I can tell, all that heartache, rejection, jealousy, and loneliness that we’re so afraid of are just collateral damage, temporary yet inevitable side-effects of the beautiful and important act of becoming vulnerable, letting someone in and opening yourself up to the exciting possibility of love.