I spent a good chunk of today (about three hours) stuck in traffic on I-5/I-205, with a migraine, so I could pick up someone from the airport.

This isn't like, oh, woe is me, it's more like — oh, this is how we love people.

(Yeah, it would have been possible to shuttle them down here, but it didn't feel very kind to go, "and now that you have made it to PDX, please catch a shuttle in a weird, unmarked location and I'll catch up with you at some point", not when the point of being out here is at least partially to maximize the time spent together.)

(I should also note that I'm fine, now — it was Bad but not so bad that I couldn't function; once I picked them up, that in and of itself was enough of a distraction that I was like "oh yes good I can Keep Going", and eventually it did mostly fade. Ish. It's trying to make a resurgence now, but I am also about to go to bed, so.)


I find myself thinking about loving people a lot lately. How do you show people you love them, do they know that you love them, &etc. Sometimes it's the big things — huge declarations and whatnot — and sometimes it's just...I saw that coffee yogurt you like was on sale at the fancy grocer, so I picked it up for you, or I saw this thing and I knew I had to show you, or I'll let you touch me when I don't let most people do that.

My parents didn't model unconditional love. I don't think they modeled love at all, really. I grew up in a household where we didn't touch each other, where there was this elaborate imaginary point system where you scored points by putting down your opponent — jokes, mostly, that made the other person look bad while you looked clever.

I wonder sometimes how I made it out of that without internalizing those lessons — that it was less important to be kind than to be clever; that showing any kind of vulnerability was weakness and would be used against you; that telling someone you loved them was gauche and the worst kind of vulnerability.

I know that the household I grew up in was dysfunctional. "Was" as though it's not still dysfunctional, somehow.

I just.

I don't think teenage rebellion is supposed to look like radical acceptance and kindness.

Is this why I don't feel like an adult very often? I've hit almost all the adult milestones: graduated (from a PhD program, even), have a house, am happily married, figured out the big identity pieces, mostly...

...but I guess I never did grow out of that teenage rebellion phase.

Mm.


I owe a debt of gratitude, I think, to everyone who has ever loved me and loved me well. A thank you for showing me what love is supposed to look like. It's not something I can repay, but how can I? The answer is "love them back", and I do, and I show them in the ways they want to be shown.