First loves.
It's a thought that has crossed my mind more than once recently. Intersections, forks in the road, gravel dirt roads, all leading to that "first" love.
One of my favorite things to do when I find myself in the presence of a seasoned couple, a pair of newlyweds, a "just friends" (c'mon, we've all heard or been a part of that story before!), is to ask the question, "How did you first meet?" I'm fascinated by their "stories," of how couples meet through a mutual friend, at a party, on a dating site, in a coffee shop, in their professions, or even, as high school sweethearts. For me, I enjoy being a part of "their" audience, for however long or short that conversational story may be, as they reel their members in with a simple, quaint, rocky, or challenging dialogue of how their love came to be. The gleam in their eyes says it all. It's amazing to see how much they recollect from their first times of an initial meeting. Our brains have ways of remembering those finite details that may seem insignificant to the listener, but oh, so important to the couple at hand. From the striking red dress she wore, to the dapper looking robin egg blue eyed guy, to the way he looked at her, as though looking through her as she passed by, to the way he opened the car door for her (proof that chivalry is not dead). Perhaps, chivalry just resurrecting in a modern way for our 21st century.
I think it's safe to say that we tend to think of "first loves" in the romantic form. And, there is some justification in that line of thought. For many, we learn about love from our parents, relatives, siblings, coworkers, an experience we had when we were little, or a combination of all. Gosh, there are many instances in which I can recall examples of what love "is" and what love "is not."
Yet, my experience of "first loves" is probably not like everybody else's. First loves can be, and should be, for that matter, so much more than the "romantic" aspect. First loves, in my opinion, extend far to the crevices of the mountain, beckoning the artist within all of us to come forth and create a beautiful masterpiece of life. Years later, we shall look back, and reflect (though the "act" of reflecting may be something that we do everyday. As a teacher, I can relate to that. I'm constantly reflecting!) First loves reach to the corners of our hearts, in which we can only know beyond good measure that they are there. They expose our deepest desires and inner passions that God has put within us to share with the world.
As a young woman in her late twenties, I've come to this realization more and more each and every day. A student teacher recently asked me the question "Did I always know that I wanted to be a teacher?" And, as I sat in that chair in my classroom, I saw that same gleam in this student teachers eyes that I see in my friends eyes when I ask them about how they met their future spouse, boyfriend, or girlfriend. I soon harbored that twinkle in my own eyes, too - explaining my love for dance - that this part of me is still alive, though I do not dance anymore. I recalled those 13 years of dance fondly and look forward to a way to tie it in with my teaching sometime in the future.
Through writing, I feel connected to something greater than myself. As cliché as that may sound, I believe that my grandfather is present with me when I write; though I unfortunately do not have the luxury to get to do it often. Through poetry, grading college papers, planning for elementary school, and working on ways to help the teachers that I coach, I see my grandfather in every aspect of it. I must admit, on some days, the work becomes grueling, but I always remember the phrase he said: "Don't worry about the time on the clock. Just get your work done and then you can take off your socks." Yet still, another phrase, one of my favorites, "If it starts to become like a 'job' to you, get out." For him, teaching was always equated with "mission work," rather than a profession, a job, or a 9-3 work week.
Whether preparing a lesson or writing a poem (there is something so powerful about putting a pencil or a pen to paper!), the act of creating and developing my series of "first loves" brings me great joy. To be honest, I need to do a better job of creating more pockets of time within my workweek to hone in on these "first loves." For example, when I dabble in the painting world, I feel connected to my grandfather, too. I've never taken any painting classes, but have tried to practice when I can. Sometimes, I go months at a time without picking up a paintbrush. I am reminded of my grandfather, who was an artist (though he was a serviceman, a teacher, and Principal, among other things, too.) And I hear his words, "keep practicing." When it's something that we want and that we are passionate about, we will work at it.
Sunday afternoons in my kitchen are phenomenal. No kidding! Though it signals the start of another work week and setting my alarm to 5:00am once again, I do enjoy my times in the kitchen. You see, I learned to cook from my dad, when I watched him on my tippy toes in the kitchen as a little girl. Cooking, like baking, relaxes me. As I prep my meals for the week, I get so excited when I see the color and arrangements of food in my head, that I immediately have to put them on the plates. It's so refreshingly satisfying, like a glass of iced cold water when you finish from a long run or a workout. You step back, and look at what you have created with your hands. Our hands are powerful tools in this world, ya know :)
My friends, writing, painting, cooking, and more- those are my first loves. Having a good book in my hands with a cup of tea reminds me of my mom and the love of reading that she instilled in me as a young girl. I loved our trips to the library. Sometimes, I wish I could relive those simpler, innocent days again. I long for those times where I can walk into a bookstore, pick up an opened book off the shelf, be the first to crack it open, and smell its pages. It's like Christmas every day!
So, you see, first loves don't have to be the "romantic" kind. Yet, I would be amiss without sharing just 1 story about a "first love." Lets make that a "few stories," as it began when I was in daycare.
There was this boy that attended the daycare that I was in (well several boys, if you must know :) that I was absolutely smitten with. My first kiss was when he backed me up against the metal fence and planted one on me right on the lips.
We all had our share of elementary and middle school "crushes," and hormones getting in the way of our studies. Remember those days? I live for the days when we can write handwritten notes to each other again. There were those "occasions" where I perfected passing notes back and forth between rows and feet dangling under desks.
High school brought its own share of transitions. As I explained to the student teacher about my first love for dance, I realized that a part of it tied in with a guy. As all good love stories go, yes, I had a high school crush, well a few- but they all fizzled away rather quickly. Like I always say "lots of boys, but no men."
Yet, throughout my primary, secondary and college years (both undergraduate and graduate), I had guys that I liked, but my focus was always on my schoolwork. My parents instilled that mantra into me from a very early age and I guess, I just didn't have time for "boys," really, because I was always busy writing a paper, being chauffeured to basketball, 4 hours of dance on a Saturday, French horn and piano lessons, horse back riding, skating, and summer camps. These activities kept me "busy" in a good way, "out of trouble," as you say, and saved me from a lot of unnecessary heartache growing up. Even now, as an adult, I had a few "first loves" that I fell for incredibly hard, but learned after several years to "let it go" as the flowers fade with the passing of each season. Ever experience those times where both of you are too shy to name the elephant in the room but quite content to be "just friends?" Yet, when you get together, you "feel" that "electricity" between the two of you?
Only when we truly allow ourselves to "let go" of past experiences, expectations, views, and thoughts, can we open the door for new experiences, expectations, views, and thoughts to permeate our homes, our hearts, and our minds. And, as a single lady right now, approaching her almost 28th year, that is precisely what I am seeking to do. Though I've never "officially" had a guy to call my own (and honestly, men and women aren't objects, but that's another story for a different day), I've experienced that feeling of "love." Though in all respects, love is not a feeling. It's a "doing." Love is an action. And, the sooner that we realize that the love between two people is an "action" can we experience love in its entirety the way that it was supposed to be. As I sit here, waiting, I am reminded of everything in its right place and time. "As the flowers bloom and fade, so the word of God stands firm forever."
So in a world of "first loves," and "love stories" and countless movies making box office millions, lets remember the first loves that some of us have that include our passions. Romance will come in time, as it is not something that you can plan for. Though you can increase the likelihood of meeting someone, I'd rather wait and see my own love story unfold, as long as that may take. For now, I'm dabbling in my own "first loves."
Now, where did I put my paintbrush?
cheers!
alex
