Love Without Abandon

Love Without Abandon



It was a Sunday Morning. I was sitting in bed drinking coffee and looking out the window while listening to my husband; Rob read a food review from a critic that once came to my bakery.  As usual, there were a million things going on out that window and this morning did not disappoint.  There was a running event of some sort happening across the bridge on this ridiculously hot summer morning.   I marveled at the people running up the bridge on one side and others running down the other side; runners always amaze me, and this morning I was very amazed.  But that’s not what caught my attention.  It was a 20 something girl in short cut-offs, long brown hair, and a black tee shirt, running as fast as she possibly could.  She was running towards a 20 something guy standing at the back of a restaurant which was no doubt bracing himself for Sunday brunch.  She ran full speed into him, jumping on him, wrapping her legs around him.  He caught her, and himself and they stood there and hugged and hugged.  At that moment, I felt like I was an intruder – creepy old women watching something beautiful and innocent.  But it was simply a display of love without abandon.

I read this quote from Buddhist Boot Camp Facebook page this morning “Fall in love when you’re ready, not when you’re lonely.”  That couple behind the restaurant seemed like they were ready, and it was pure and honest.  As humans, we decide we are ready, the stars are all aligned, and we are finally in love with who we were meant to be, and then instantly we get lazy. Why do we no longer run without abandon into the arms of that person?

Those types of questions make me a little crazy, nervous and sad.  They force me to examine my relationship.  At first glance, my marriage seems lazy. Some days I barely stop what I’m doing much less get off the couch when Rob comes home from a meeting.   I certainly don’t run up to him, jump on him and wrap my legs around him.  We are almost 50, and that act alone might cause us to break a hip or at the very least some bruising resulting in a few days on the couch with an economy-sized bottle of Advil.  But my marriage is comfortable, worn like your favorite pair of sweatpants you grab when you are going nowhere but the couch.  When something happens, good, bad or mundane, Rob is where I run to either physically or mentally.  When something good or bad happens, I run to Rob without abandon.  He is my person.

Maybe that’s how love matures. Maybe the fifty-year-old version of jumping into your person’s arms and wrapping your legs around them, hugging until no one can breathe is a comfort, warmth, and security.  I am often sad when I see young love because it makes me feel old, but this morning that young love made me happy.  It made me glad to be sitting in bed on a hot Sunday morning, drinking coffee, listening to Rob read a food review of one of our favorite restaurants.   I wouldn’t trade being comfortable over new love ever.

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