“And so, all evening, the male bird displayed his plumage and the female played her part and asked questions and laughed and feigned more interest than she felt. Both were young, and if neither loved each other very much, each was still anxious to be admired.”
I don’t want to be admired, I want to be loved.
Admiring is what you do unto pro athletes.
Admiring is what you do to renowned actors.
Admiring is what you do with a painting in a museum.
But I’m just a person.
Simply a young man with a few insecurities
And a lot of dreams.
Admiration?
No way.
If I must be honest though,
Then I must confess…
I live with such an anxiety.
To be admired.
To be approved.
Appreciated.
Respected.
Thought highly of.
Loved.
I always thought the one came with the other.
Love and admiration, like two peas in a pod.
“If I measure up to the ideal
[but whose ideal?]
Then I will be loved!”
…right?
I don’t think so anymore.
Or, at the least, I’m starting to believe not.
“If I can pull this off, do it right, not make a mistake,
Then certainly love will follow!”
Such is the power of pride,
Especially pride in the name of self-love.
Do I really want people to love me,
Or do I just want to love myself
And have that feeling affirmed by admirers?
“If I’m enough to be admired,
Then surely I am enough to be loved.”
But
Love has no if/then.
Love is crossing a line through if/then.
“Well, if I…–“
No. Stop.
No ifs.
No thens.
Just…
Be.
And be loved.
