Simplicity and James Taylor

This week, in the middle of life’s hazards, a loved one called me an old soul. I have never been called this, out right but I have always known it down in my bones. I love and value and put into regular use things that people generations ahead of me might be characterized by. I take pleasure in reading one of the Fireside poets and the simple beauty of his prose, letting his word pictures linger in my mind. I adore James Taylor and old jazz. There is no female voice I find as unique and lovely as Billie Holiday. I prefer big, warm, lovely sweaters to little tops that serve no purpose but to showcase cleavage. I enjoy just being still, which I remember my Grandma admonishing me about, "just be still Lindsay,". I use phrases like "that chaps my hide", which I believe was the original quip that won me the title of old soul in the first place. I suppose there are things about me that could be nothing other than evidence of my post-modern, post gen-X generation; my love of things like texting or Coldplay or drinks from Starbucks. But that is another post altogether.

I have traveled the world, crossed continents and social boundaries. I have lived life in places that have very different ideas and values. No matter where I go, though, love is always there in some form. The old soul in me (and perhaps a bit of the romantic that is buried deep, deep within me) recognizes this emotion above all others. Maybe I am more romantic than I choose to let myself believe. One thing that I have found in all my travels, in all my searching, both across the world and then in the depths of my own soul is that love is far more than emotion, more than a feeling, if you will (and no, my old soul wasn’t channeling Boston there). Love is a choice. Now, I know that many would argue and say that we cannot choose the people we love, that sometimes it just "happens". Nonsense. There is always a choice, even if it is not conscious. Perhaps you do not initially choose who to love but you certainly must make a choice on whether you want to continue loving that person after the warm-fuzzies have gone. In fact, I would argue that the “warm-fuzzies” that people feel are only a precursor, that love is what occurs later, when you no longer get butterflies and that person begins to wear on your nerves. Love is when you know your life would never be the same without that person who both makes you crazy/angry and blissfully happy at the same time. Love is the hard choice to stick it out and keep working long after you feel like throwing in the towel. Love does NOT come naturally, only supernaturally. 

Fear, on the other hand is emotion and often I find it running rampant in my life. Through an unfortunate mix of genetics, learned behavior, and my own life lessons I have happened upon a veritably paralyzing fear of rejection. I am so scared that if I let myself go completely, pin my heart on my sleeve, I will not only be unlucky in love but will face the agony of not being loved in return. I spend time quashing my hope because it is easier to admit defeat if I never hoped rather than be disappointed because I did hope (by the way, this method is utterly useless as “quashing hope” is pretty much impossible…like trying to sneeze with your eyes open). Lying in bed wondering about things gives me the opportunity to choose love. If I rely on the idea that it is only a feeling then I devalue love. Love is like forgiveness, absolutely vital yet 100% optional. The old soul in me yearns for love that is easy and comfortable, a known quantity, love that is as reliable as it is fulfilling. I am not a child, not a teenager, I am a grown woman and I know what I want, my mind and heart are not swayed by youth. Perhaps that is also the old soul within me, a fierce knowledge of what I want, what is good for me, what makes me happy and ultimately what brings simplicity to my life in this amphetaminized world.

It may be that the two themes I am trying (and failing!) to capture here do not really mix at all. Having a love of things that an old person would love and then the idea of my backwards fear of love and rejection seem like oil and water, but yet here I sit writing about them both in the same blog. So really it may be that this blog is about neither, maybe this blog is just a reflection of me and what I am feeling now; my desire to experience love of the same strength and intensity as that I give to another, and my nostalgia and longing as I listen to "Fire and Rain.”. But yet, as I think about one who truly is old in years, what would they value? What would they love? Well, that’s easy: simplicity…and perhaps softer food.