Life, Love and other mysteries (wasn't that a song?)

I'm chillin' here late at work, with nothing to do, so I just watched the movie Indecent Proposal. Very thought-provoking movie, about a billionaire who offers a million dollars to a destitute couple in exchange for one night with the wife. I shouldn't really say what else happens, you'll have to see it for yourself. But it brings to mind so many questions about love and trust. How much should spouses trust each other, and how much should they be willing to forgive? That must be crazy, I can't imagine how deeply that would hurt, to be betrayed by the one person that you trust the most. Does love really cover over EVERY offense?

Of course, it's inevitable that each person will be hurt in some way or another by their spouse or significant other- it's quite ignorant to assume otherwise. We can't be naive and believe that we'll never be hurt by those close to us, but should we protect ourselves from the possibility of such a hurt? I've seen several of my friends get deeply involved in romantic relationships, and they let themselves get attached too quickly, and then when it ended, they were deeply hurt. Was is worth it for them to love as deeply as they did, even if it cost them getting hurt just as (if not more) deeply? Things like that make me want to be cynical about love.

In the movies, love stories always have a happy ending. But not all love stories have such a happy ending. Didn't everyone who first started out in relationships truly believe that it would be happy and wonderful forever? Like, for instance, my dad. He married my mom when they were in their late 20's, and said vows that he would love her forever. But, after 13 years of marriage, she died of ovarian cancer. Was it worth it for my dad to have loved her? I suppose so. But why must tragedy always go hand in hand with love? I guess I'm just wondering if it's worth it to love so deeply with anyone (not even necessarily romantically), if loss is virtually inevitable.

I know, I don't want to turn into an apathetic, indifferent, cold person that has no emotion, but I think I am just weary of being so taxed by emotion- is it worth it to love friends, and hurt and rejoice with them, and become very close to them, even if that relationship always ends? Is life just an endless cycle of trading confidants for the next convenient confidant, and beginning the process of trust and love all over again? I'm not even into my twenties yet, and sometimes I already feel wearied with trying to find someone to trust, because I feel like I'm just going to have to keep learning to trust new people, and my heart will be stretched thin.

I suppose the concept of "best friend" is quite ambiguous to me. I once thought that I had a "best friend," someone that I could trust and always rely on; but alas, through the process of growing up and changing and having several conflicts, I learned how expendable the relationship of "best friend" can be. I sometimes think that it has made me a bit hard to trust people again, after being betrayed by the person whom I believed to be the closest to me.

Trust and fidelity are beginning to seem quite gray to me. . . .even though I'd like to believe that they are possible. Besides, we all are temporary beings, whoever could really promise to always be there- we can't even promise ourselves that we'll be here tomorrow?

I often am reminded how finite I am. Every time I drive down the road, I remember how precarious even the act of traveling is, and nothing is ever certain. Not even our own existence. How final that sounds. But yet, when I see my mother's grave in the ground year after year on Memorial Day, I realize that my life is but a moment in the grand scheme of time. I mean, my mom Lynn isn't even remembered that much anymore, or talked about very much. It's only been 17 years since she died, but her memory is beginning to fade now already. In my mind, and in the larger culture. Thousands of cars pass by on the highway every day, not even a few hundred yards from where my mom is buried. I wonder how many of those people take even a second glance to realize how many lives, minds, personalities and dreams are buried in that quiet lot not far off the highway. Sometimes I look out over the vast spread of vehicles cruising down the highway, and I am overwhelmed by the amount of humanity that is passing by my eyes. They all are people, with lives and thoughts and emotions, and each with a temporal life which they cannot avoid. We all feel invincible, of course, because we don't have enough time to slow down our busy lives enough to see the finitude of our own lives staring us bleakly in the face. When I hear news of the war with the numbers of casualties, I often think about how each of those people had families and friends. They were people. Each of the thousands of tsunami victims was a person, but I must admit, it has begun to seem like just another number to me. Another NUMBER of tragedy, of loss, of humanity. I don't think we can avoid becoming numb to it sometimes. If we wept over every tragedy, we wouldn't be able to function, we would be too overcome. I used to cry at roadkill when I was younger, grieving for the poor animal who met its fate under the crushing wheels of an oblivious motorist. What a sad way for their existence to end. But now, I pass by corpses of animals without a second glance. (Strange, that "growing up" has made me more indifferent. What used to move me as a child now doesn't even stir me.)

Last year, when I worked for Youthworks, I was often becoming attached to a certain youth or community kid and putting "too much" of my heart into my relationship with them. I felt like I was being torn apart for the pain that I saw in their lives, I hurt FOR them. I would weep for the girls that I knew felt alone and ugly, for the kids who had no parents, for the youth who felt excluded and outcast. Shouldn't we ALL grieve for these crimes against humanity? If any child even goes to bed hungry, shouldn't we as human beings protest such injustice? Simply because they are HUMAN, and they deserve dignity and respect.

But alas, we are too comfortable in our own safe and lovely lives to see and hurt for the pain of another. There is pain and poverty all around, but it is easier and safer for us to simply turn away and pretend not to see. I would say that perhaps the bigger crime than perpetuating situations of pain and oppression is not saying or doing anything to stop it.

There is so much pain in the world, and what is gained simply by me grieving over it? I can't feed a child any faster if I simply wallow in the obvious pain of the situation? I can say all of these things, but when will true change come? Can I be an agent of true change?

I hope that someday I will know what it means to have authentic compassion on every single human being. . . . . . . .