I sit here in the Louvre and wonder: Is it better for man to be by himself, free from obligation, committed only to oneself? Or is it better to exchange freedom for a life of security, love and routine?
Throughout my trip in Paris, I have pondered my independence as a single young man filled with potential. I have reflected on the choices available at my choosing. While life has operated in cycles of solace, it has also given me acquaintances in abundance. But I think I am learning at this moment that an abundance of acquaintances is not necessarily better than a life shared with one.
It seems while each person may initially bring hope, love is a journey that takes time. It isn’t something that can be rushed, no matter how vulnerable you may feel. And while the act of love may arrive quickly, it is still nothing more than an acquaintance on the spiritual side. It takes time, patience, understanding, compassion, empathy to create a higher form of love.
I think the love I am describing is a love that comes from another place. It isn’t inspired by aesthetic beauty, and it doesn’t end with freshly urges. It begins from within- a compassion for hurt, a thought without motive.
It’s a love that wants to understand why, with hope of communicating the reason.
If this description sounds simple, why then must so many men fail in its pursuit? Is it possible naivete is guiding my hand towards the impossible?
Perhaps each man has not pondered the multiple layers of love. It lies deeper than the first blanket and even when that blanket is pulled back, their still lies layer after layer. Perhaps this fleeting moment is just the beginning of understanding the potential and sacrifice love can bring. It is not a given right, as much as we may feel. No, love is a personal reflection that begins with oneself until it is able to transcend spirits and touch another soul on the same level.
The only right we have as people is to pursue the absolute truth of love within ourselves. And only when we begin to see the qualities within ourselves are we able to say thank you, with such a finality– for a feeling of love, for a feeling of being loved– on a level where words bare no meaning.