I remember when I was much younger, and being young, my mind kept me abreast of the most absolute things to obey, I was still nonetheless afraid of what exactly to love in life. In my mind, only certain things deserve that kind of love and dedication; and if life grants us the time and space, I could even love it the same way the next day.
All in all, my childhood proved itself to be an adventure every day. Being hyper as a coon-dog, my days were filled with exploring through the layers of woods outside my house, running around chasing anything that wanted to be chased, and of course, following the things in my purview that gave me the most freedom throughout the day.
See, my life then–as it is today–was all about the nowness of things and when I woke up, I was greeted by that dedication to the day. I was greeted by the fact that each day was an absolute truth to the beauty of what my eyes envisioned my purpose in it. In my understanding, it was my obligation to simply own the love for the day, vice simply loving the day.
Which brings me back to the loving part.
…I’ve learned in life that by simply loving a thing, we may not always incorporate a culture of love around that item we’re intending to love.
So, where is the line where we love something vice own the love in something? When does that thing we love become alive to us?