Garden Bench | Love Often Waits For A Life Lit Up From Within
Two weeks ago, one of my girlfriends announced her engagement,and with that news, the ranks thinned once again: the married, thealmost-married and otherwise paired up leaving a starkly dwindlingsinglehood trapped in that often-uncomfortable place of longing,despair and resignation. There, happiness for another’s good newscan sometimes be dwarfed by a dimming hope for the arrival of lovein one’s life.
At least one of my single friends has been resolutely bracingherself for the empty years ahead, a series of disappointingprospects leading her to believe an enduring partnership is not inher future. Another keeps an open mind and heart, though her singlestatus has begun to chafe, while a few others raise the occasionallonely, and sometimes bitter, lament from otherwise satisfyinglives.
In the face of their pessimism or flagging optimism, after eachepisode of blighted promise or the pity party thrown for elusiveromance, I’ve been there to champion them on, to assure them theywill not end up alone, that it is only a matter of time before thatspecial someone sets his sights upon them. It is easier, I know, toremain positive and encouraging from the contented perch of my ownrelationship.
But though my words may sound Pollyannaish, I honestly believethey will find love when they’re ready for it, and, in many cases,have given up the gnawing search for it. Not that I consider myselfa relationship expert but my limited experience has taught me thatthe love we seek often appears while we’re too busy enjoying ourlives to even have noted its absence.
That, at least, is the way it’s always been with me, though Ican count the boyfriends I’ve had on one hand and got such a latestart in the dating department that it amused my sorority sistersto no end when I was alternatingly delighted and unnerved by theprospect of being swept up in my first genuine romance during mysenior year of college.
They laughed when they heard how M., who would become my firstboyfriend, first love and the first guy to break my heart, failedto deliver the perfect first kiss he’d planned, while holding myhand under a starlit sky, because at that moment, I chose to make abeeline for the campus shuttle bus.
And when he told me he loved me, a few short months later afterI’d invited him to dinner at our sorority house, thisself-proclaimed romantic could only reply, “I’d better get you towork,” as I was about to drive him to the alumni fund-raising jobhe held on campus.
For all the sweet and tender visions of love I’d stored up,inexperience made me awkward and innocent and often nave. I hadgrown up, after all, in a home where dating was not allowed. It wasmore of an unspoken than a stated rule, given how strict my fatherwas and my own early, sheltered Caribbean upbringing, where suchexperiences were delayed for as long as possible. Those impliedrestrictions could have made me resentful, especially when Iwatched friends embark on their first dates and fall into buddingromances. When I skipped both my junior and senior proms, without apool of possible dates to choose from (though my dad did offer toaccompany me and my mom volunteered the son of a friend I barelyknew), I could have been crushed.
But despite the occasional yearning to be part of a twosome, Iwas mostly content and happy with the life in front of me. And itwas those qualities, I believe, that eventually brought me to thatfirst blush of love. Even when M. and I would go our separate waysafter I graduated, my heartbreak was never rimmed with the anxietyof wondering who would replace him. I didn’t fear being alone,didn’t pack up my heart and place it out of reach from futurebungling, hopeful advances. I mourned, and every now and
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