Complete

We’ve rearranged and cleaned carpets. We’ve moved plants to new locations to catch the light as it comes around the corner of the house now. I got rid of the baker’s rack that I’ve had for far too long to be fashionable and we have found a new place to start putting the books I’ve read since the shelves are overflowing.

I made a huge pot of chili some of which I’ll freeze. In a short bit, we’ll make pizza and while LM has lost the privilege to have Movie Night, we’ll still enjoy a night cuddled up on the couch while the last of the living room carpet dries. I’ve washed all of our bedding, including the comforters giving us fresh warm beds to sleep in.

This morning, before even getting out of bed, LM declared, “I love our house.” So do I. I love it not for the things that we own, but for how it reflects the people that we are. I love it for the light that shines in the windows. I love it for the bird feeders that hang on the deck. I love it for the plants, books and pictures that abound. But I love it for the peace and comfort that it brings. I love it for being mine. I love that I pay the mortgage and I do it alone. I love that I provide this for my son. I love the pets we own and the love and laughter that we all enjoy together. I love my life. It feels complete. Just.The.Way.It.Is.


And yet…

Yesterday I started the book "The Time Traveler’s Wife" and I finished it in bed early this morning. I loved it. I savored it. I treasured the experience of reading it. It was the first time I finished the last page and nearly turned back to the front to start again. Love that transcends time and place. Love that endures all. Love through the good and the bad. Love that is enough and more.

I don’t know how it is that I can be so entranced by a story of such deep love and yet be so satisfied in my life without it. Perhaps that’s the way it is supposed to be. Peace without someone brings peace with someone. I don’t know. Maybe the story is a dream, a Hollywood version of love, but not to me. It wasn’t a description of easy love. It wasn’t a story of perfect, untested love. It was a story of true love. I have never wanted to settle for less.

Perhaps the peace that I feel is from the knowledge that I love my life plenty as it is and have no need to settle for a love that is less than true. I am content enough with all that I have and all that I feel without substituting something less than perfect. Perhaps finding contentment in the life that we have alone allows us the patience to wait for the love of our life to come along. Perhaps at the right place and the right time, the love that is perfect for me will enter our lives and bring our sense of contentment to a whole new level.

Perhaps it's just a reminder that loving someone doesn't "complete" us; that we are complete on our own, and coming together we form a union of life with two individuals. Perhaps having what feels like a full life does not exclude the idea that there are pieces yet to come. There are not voids to be filled; when love comes, we make room, we open our hearts wider, we make the circle bigger.