Morning hesitates, somewhere on the eastern horizon, waiting for the right moment to burst forth and spread light upon the sleeping world. My coffee tastes extra good today. Divine. Warm. Liquid honey.
We shared Thanksgiving dinner last night at my sister's. My daughters, their boyfriends, my sister's husband, my mother, and C.C. He had arrived back mid-afternoon. He'd caught an earlier flight than he'd originally booked, but still later than the crack of dawn one he'd thought he'd catch before the wedding celebrations he'd attended led him into tasting Scotch late at night with a couple of buddies.
Old friends. New friends. Hellos and Good-byes. Wedding bells and new beginnings. Something old. Something new. Something borrowed. Something blue. We both had weddings this weekend we needed to be at. We both met up with old friends, new acquaintances and then we met each other at the airport.
Airports. The opening scene of "Love Actually" shows families and friends, children and old folk greeting one another at an airport. It's one of the most beautiful scenes of friendship and love I've ever witnessed created in the medium of film.
Meeting C.C. felt like that. A coming home. A slipping into. An anticipation. A surprising feeling of having missed someone enough that when you see them, your spirits lift and the world brightens with a momentary flash of recognition. A kiss. A hello. A welcoming.
Life changes every day. Someone walks in and space widens up to encompass their presence. It's not a making room so much as a fitting in, a shifting of time and space to embrace the possibility of what can be when two people recognize that indefinable presence within each of them that awakens at the sight of the other.
In Plato's, Symposium, the dinner guests are invited to tell a story about love. He tells the story of the world at the beginning of time when humans were androgynous beings connected along their spine's, one half looking forward, the other looking back, always in balance, always weighing equally which direction they would go. One day, the humans decided to topple the gods. Zeus, hearing about their plot, sent Apollo to earth to rip them asunder. Ever since that time, writes Plato, we humans have spent our destiny searching for our missing half, our soul mate, the other part of our beings.
When we meet someone special, there is always that wondering, are you him? Are you my missing soul mate? Are you the part of me that was torn asunder long ago?
Yet, speculation and wondering of who are you in my life, can keep me from seeing who the other person is in his or her life. It can blind me to who they are without the filter of my perceptions making them into who I want them to be. The truth is, when I look for another to complete me, I am always at risk of meeting someone who will want to finish me off on the dark side.
No man can make me complete. No man can fulfill my missing parts -- not because it's an impossible task. But rather, because, I am whole. I am complete, exactly the way I am. My flaws are part of my beauty. My weaknesses are part of my strengths. Accepting who I am, exactly the way I am, leaves me free to be all of me, with or without a man in my life.
With C.C., I am learning to stay whole in relationship. With others, I always gave away big parts of me to fit into their lives, to make myself fit someone else's needs. Because my needs were not clearly defined and my wants went unexpressed, I lived in the shadows of someone else's life. This time, I get to live in the light of my light sharing the glow from someone else's.
I'm growing. Shifting. Expanding. Learning.
What a wonderful gift on a Tuesday morning the week following Thanksgiving. I am complete, exactly the way I am. I am grateful.
The question is: Do you recognize your completeness exactly the way you are, or are you searching for missing pieces, somewhere out there, without seeing the truth within you? Are you missing seeing your beauty, warts and all?