“I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time she smiles”
People say that the heat in Southern California isn’t so bad because it’s a “dry heat”. The people who say that seem to think that humidity is treacherous, but dry is soothing. Dry isn’t so hot, they say.
I say they’ve never truly experienced a Southern California spring, summer, or fall. I say they are unaware of the mean spirited winds that often accompany the dry heat, kicking up dust and dirt and triggering fatigue and illness. I say they’ve never tried to will themselves to sleep despite the hot wind whipping against the walls of their homes, daring them to check that alarm system just one more time.
There’s something about the combination of heat and high wind that leaves you with a feeling of unease. Like something isn’t quite right.
On these nights I lie awake, watching the clock. Come home, I think, please come home soon.
Against my better judgment, and any advice I would ever give, I usually watch TV to ease my racing thoughts during these windy, creepy nights. In the company of FRIENDS, I can relax and fall off to sleep with thoughts of happiness and laughter.
Last night was such a night. With the wind rattling the gates and the safety lights flicking on and off in response, sleep seemed impossible. But when I checked in with my favorite characters, my worries all but disappeared.
Monica spent the better part of the episode chasing down Chandler in an attempt to prove that their relationship was still every bit as exciting as Phoebe’s new blossoming romance. There was no end to the absurd lengths she was willing to go to in order to remain in the game. Until, of course, reality slapped her in the face: Love changes over time, but that doesn’t make it any less exciting.
I found myself thinking back to the beginning of my relationship with my husband, over thirteen years ago. Sometimes it feels like yesterday, but other times it feels like a lifetime ago.
We were young and busy and always going. He toured with his band nearly non-stop, and I was a weekend warrior. Using up personal days at an alarming rate, I lived long weekend to long weekend, jet setting around the country to see him play and catch a couple of days of time together.
It was exciting and fast and always an adventure, as young love often is (with or without the rock and roll).
And then, just like that, we settled into old love.
A calm washed over us and the desperate need to experience every single second of excitement together made way for a slower lifestyle, one with goals beyond the immediate.
Life plans were made.
Old love took over.
Some people fear old love, as if the lack of excitement speaks to a fractured relationship in some way. They love the chase. They love the courtship. They need the desperate longing to be side-by-side…but they don’t know how to build a future together. They get stuck in instant gratification.
I think all love is worth having but, if forced to choose, I would choose old love any day.
Old love is the accumulation of memories, good and bad. Old love is snuggling on the couch on a cold, rainy night…a glass of red in hand. Old love is watching children grow and learn right before our very eyes and wondering how time seems to escape us.
Together, we have faced loss, heartache, excitement, and final triumph over years of infertility. Twice. Together we have weathered storms, celebrated success, and reached just a little bit higher. Together we have built a home, a life, and a family. Together we have made our dreams come true.
Old love is strength, courage, and determination.
Old love is true love.
Old love is safety and comfort on a windy night.
Old love is happily ever after.