Wabi Sabi Love
Nothing lasts, nothing is finished and nothing is perfect.
Think of the slightly irregular handmade pottery bowl, or the flower arrangement with one tulip drooping.
As I lay on the floor surrounded by pillows, dog at my feet snoring, cat on my lap with one paw on the keyboard, and my boyfriend asleep out-snoring them both; I realize that if we look for it, Wabi Sabi exists in our own lives as well. We just need to recognize it.
I’m in love with a man whom marches to his own drumbeat. If we had a baby together there’s no doubt that I would return home to find the baby well fed, in a clean diaper, loved beyond belief and sleeping in the kitchen pantry.
If I were to go on autopilot, it would be easy to criticize his imperfections daily.
Yet after a brief time apart, I saw clearly that like the irregular bowl that is so beautiful in it’s own Wabi Sabi way…the beauty of this man exists in his seemingly abnormal self.
I wrote a while back about loving the people in our lives the way we love our pets. Pets are far less than perfect; yet we love them because we know our time together is limited. Every single day is perfection because it’s all we have as the clock ticks quickly on their four legged lives.
As I open my room temperature pantry and find a new carton of half and half on the shelf; neatly put away in his absent minded way, I remind myself that his Wabi Sabi sort of love, like my dog, won’t be alive forever.
In his own way he is perfection, and in my own heart I recognize this Wabi Sabi sort of love.
~photo by chris 73 from wikipedia.com
**While Tamara is no longer in relationship with this man, the lesson of Wabi Sabi sort of love still lingers in her heart.
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July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. How to Love a Woman who Scares You. Our Soulmates are Rarely Who We Expect. I Still Think of You. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD. How My Sister’s Death Transformed my Self-Perception.