Holes in My Own Loving

Now sewing brings the pain back, eases it. It reveals holes in my
own loving.

– Stephanie Sauer, Almonds are Members of the Peach Family

When I first loved, there were no holes, save for myself. I gave everything, kept nothing, a firehose emptying every well. I was the hole, and I wore it well.

When I noticed the whole of my emptiness and its longing, I found another firehose, and we collapsed together every night, soaked and wholly hollow.

I called this life without holes.

(It was not.)

There is no avoiding holes. I am a mess of holes, so there is a mess of holes in my loving.

I learned to love people who see my holes and see me through their own. The stinging bliss of love is seeing yourself through someone else’s holes—that is to say, an accounting of every lack, a negotiation of our respective failures.

I want to love both others and myself wholly and with minimal failing, so this accounting is a thorny gift we open tenderly together.

Loving reveals holes in my own loving. I cannot fill them. In my wholeness, I move them somewhere safer, and hold them somewhat gentler.

A Popcorn of Grasshoppers

Lately, I’ve been riding my bike to and from the gym. It’s only about a mile away, and it’s an easy ride. I could say that it helps get my heart rate up so I benefit more from my workout (true), or that I’m saving the planet in my tiny, non-commercial way (true), but the truest truth is that I feel like an utter badass rolling up to the gym with my yoga mat slung across my back.

Today, dozens of tiny grasshoppers had made their way to the sidewalk, presumably seeking an unfiltered sunlight. As I passed, they’d leap several feet into the air, startled or fearful or perhaps angry I’d messed with their sunbathing. Every few seconds, poof! hop! pop!, a handful of baby grasshoppers pirouetting all around me.

It’s a popcorn of grasshoppers! I thought joyfully and audibly giggled.

And then, immediately, If I hadn’t been biking to the gym instead of driving or skipping altogether, I would have missed this!

I thought of the red tail hawk who swooped into the field just in front of me on yesterday’s ride, surely to sniff a goldenrod or for some other entirely nonviolent purpose. I wouldn’t have seen that, either!

But then I thought of the other red tail hawk I saw yesterday, slowly hovering just above my windshield, then veering into the ditch (also definitely for a nonviolent purpose), as I drove to work.

Well, wait. Then what’s the lesson, if it’s not “bike places so you can see cool things“??

Reader, I am obsessed with “the lesson.”

Uncomfortable or unfortunate events? What can I learn so I can prevent this happening again? Happy happenings? What can I learn so I can make sure this happens again?!

That’s not to say there isn’t a lesson. Maybe it’s, Pay attention. Or, There is joy all around you, if you look. Or maybe it’s, Red tail hawks are very hungry. Who knows?

I guess what I’m learning — or, if you will, the lesson — is that I’m a bit tired of myself at the moment, of the constant popcorn of my thoughts grasping for some sense of control.

So if you need me, I’ll be lying in the unfiltered sun, sniffing a goldenrod, tying big red balloons to all these analytical thoughts and watching them disappear into the endless sky like a totally nonviolent hawk.