Love is not enough
I’ve been thinking about love a lot. This should not come as a surprise to anyone. But in doing so, I’ve also been thinking about loss quite a bit.
Over the summer, a neighborhood cat had kittens and one particular kitten took an interest in me. For weeks, I’d be outside working on my porch and she’d come by, rub all over my legs, and cuddle into my lap. I started buying cat treats and getting Fancy Feast delivered. I made her a little house from a cardboard box. I couldn’t take her inside, couldn’t officially make her mine. But I did everything I could to care for her. She had brown fur and green eyes that reminded me of sunlight filtered through leaves. I named her Hunter.
I know that the life of a stray cat isn’t easy. Sometimes I wouldn’t see her for a few days and I’d worry that something happened to her. As Fall approached and the leaves started changing and the temperature started dropping, I knew that Hunter needed a warm home - something I just couldn’t give her. And it was selfish of me to want to hold onto her.
On a Saturday morning recently, I stood on my porch drinking my morning coffee and I watched as a woman and a small child called Hunter over to their car, scooped her up, and took her inside. They had treats and toys and a bed, and the kid’s eyes were so full of love. And when the woman caught my eye, she asked me, “Does this cat belong to anyone?” and I told her, “No, she’s actually been looking for a warm home”.
That’s the last time I saw Hunter.
It feels silly to be upset about something that was never mine - it’s my fault for getting attached to something I could never have. I’m really not trying to romanticize this. But it made me learn something important about love that I think is worth spending time on. To love something is not to possess it. And sometimes the biggest act of love, the most grand gesture you can do for something you love, is to let it go. And I don’t mean let it go in the
“if you love something, you should let it go, and if it comes back, it was yours all along”
kind of way. I mean let it go with no hope or expectation of it coming back to you. Because sometimes love is not enough.
Don’t get me wrong. I love love. I think it’s special and beautiful and magical. But it can be all those things and still not be enough.
Let go of the things you love, especially if it means they have a better chance of getting what they need somewhere else. This isn’t about stray cats.
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There’s an idiom about the grass being greener on the other side versus being greener where you water it. I’m sure I don’t have to explain this one. But I think there’s a piece missing that no one really talks about. The grass will very likely be greener where you water it, I’m not debating that. But the grass will be greenest in fertile ground.
You can give your grass all the water and sunlight and love in the world. But if your grass seeds are planted in gravel, your grass is never going to grow. Sometimes love is not enough. Once again, this isn’t about grass.
~
I often have trouble letting things go. Even as I feel them slipping away, I tend to hold on tighter, and just like sand, they end up slipping through my fingers even faster.
So lately I’m working on loving things from afar. I’m working on acknowledging that sometimes my love is not enough. And that’s okay.