Today I saw not only one, but two, pearls.
People watching at the mall. That's what I'd been doing. I didn't plan to watch the mall-walkers this morning, but I got caught up in it. It's fun to create life-stories based on the age, demeanor, facial expressions, and coiffure of each person unfortunate enough to walk past my line of sight. It's also surprisingly emotional and thought-provoking.
There were the two separate women pushing strollers: One with an athlete's body aside from a remainder pregnancy pooch that she is quite obviously determined to walk off. I felt admiration for her resolute commitment to the cause mixed with sorrow for the baby of someone with that kind of drive who could easily be overlooked as mom unwaveringly sets her face towards the goal.
The other mother strode through the mall in a body that hadn't seen regular physical activity in at least a few years. Her maternal gaze fixed on her toddler as he danced along beside the stroller that carried a newborn infant, a slight smile unable to leave her face. My heart melted. This woman may have a few extra pounds and wear a Hollywood body faux paux size 20, but she quite obviously adores her children.
Then came the couples: all of them in my parents' generation (we're talking the 75 - 85 age group). There was the couple that walked fifteen feet apart (I'm not even sure if they're a couple); or the oddly-matched couple in which the woman is dressed perfectly in wrinkle-free white capris and a button-down, pastel striped shirt, her hair perfectly in place. Her husband sports well-worn tennis shoes, shorts, a t-shirt with torn-off sleeves and a tattoo. Of course there were also plenty of typical run-of-the-mill couples walking around, fairly normal-looking middle-class folks, but my favorite, by far, were the two pearls - the two couples that held hands like high school sweethearts. It was these two pair that brought unexpected tears to my eyes.
A newly engaged couple, a wedding, the beginning of a life together - young love walks by, and in its wake, there is a sense of joy, of expectation, a new beginning, dreams, a book anxiously waiting to be written. Poetic in its beauty and possibility. . . but old love? What of it? The freshness, the sense of expectation, of dreams, of possibility are long gone. They've been replaced by reality: trials, hardships, career-changes, cross-country moves, illnesses, responsibilities, stress, loss, maybe the death of a parent or child and its accompanying grief.
What does old love leave in its wake that could possibly compare with new love? A depth that young love only hopes to attain, only dreams about for it doesn't yet know the secret that old love knows. It doesn't yet know that it's in the very things it tries so hard to avoid: the stress of life, the disagreements, the hard times that the pearl of true love is formed, grows, and begins to shine brilliantly. It doesn't know that true love must choose to love moment by moment, day by day. Walking uphill. Singing through storms. Dancing in minefields. Holding on through tornadoes and hurricanes. Determined to succeed in the midst of incredible opposition.
So when I see old love, I get emotional. I know that no matter who they are, life hasn't been easy. Who knows what they've faced in their years together? Yet they've chosen, they've determined, like the athletically-built mother, to not only stay married (after all, anyone can do that), but to stay in love. Now that's something else altogether. Their skin may hang lose around their face. Their bellies' geometric circumference may be the same as their age. Their complexion may not be worthy of a Cover Girl ad. Nevertheless, when old love walks by, I see beauty - a brilliant pearl of very great worth, and in its wake, it leaves a sense that in the midst of all the chaos of life, love can most definitely prevail.
People watching at the mall. That's what I'd been doing. I didn't plan to watch the mall-walkers this morning, but I got caught up in it. It's fun to create life-stories based on the age, demeanor, facial expressions, and coiffure of each person unfortunate enough to walk past my line of sight. It's also surprisingly emotional and thought-provoking.
There were the two separate women pushing strollers: One with an athlete's body aside from a remainder pregnancy pooch that she is quite obviously determined to walk off. I felt admiration for her resolute commitment to the cause mixed with sorrow for the baby of someone with that kind of drive who could easily be overlooked as mom unwaveringly sets her face towards the goal.
The other mother strode through the mall in a body that hadn't seen regular physical activity in at least a few years. Her maternal gaze fixed on her toddler as he danced along beside the stroller that carried a newborn infant, a slight smile unable to leave her face. My heart melted. This woman may have a few extra pounds and wear a Hollywood body faux paux size 20, but she quite obviously adores her children.
Then came the couples: all of them in my parents' generation (we're talking the 75 - 85 age group). There was the couple that walked fifteen feet apart (I'm not even sure if they're a couple); or the oddly-matched couple in which the woman is dressed perfectly in wrinkle-free white capris and a button-down, pastel striped shirt, her hair perfectly in place. Her husband sports well-worn tennis shoes, shorts, a t-shirt with torn-off sleeves and a tattoo. Of course there were also plenty of typical run-of-the-mill couples walking around, fairly normal-looking middle-class folks, but my favorite, by far, were the two pearls - the two couples that held hands like high school sweethearts. It was these two pair that brought unexpected tears to my eyes.
A newly engaged couple, a wedding, the beginning of a life together - young love walks by, and in its wake, there is a sense of joy, of expectation, a new beginning, dreams, a book anxiously waiting to be written. Poetic in its beauty and possibility. . . but old love? What of it? The freshness, the sense of expectation, of dreams, of possibility are long gone. They've been replaced by reality: trials, hardships, career-changes, cross-country moves, illnesses, responsibilities, stress, loss, maybe the death of a parent or child and its accompanying grief.
What does old love leave in its wake that could possibly compare with new love? A depth that young love only hopes to attain, only dreams about for it doesn't yet know the secret that old love knows. It doesn't yet know that it's in the very things it tries so hard to avoid: the stress of life, the disagreements, the hard times that the pearl of true love is formed, grows, and begins to shine brilliantly. It doesn't know that true love must choose to love moment by moment, day by day. Walking uphill. Singing through storms. Dancing in minefields. Holding on through tornadoes and hurricanes. Determined to succeed in the midst of incredible opposition.
So when I see old love, I get emotional. I know that no matter who they are, life hasn't been easy. Who knows what they've faced in their years together? Yet they've chosen, they've determined, like the athletically-built mother, to not only stay married (after all, anyone can do that), but to stay in love. Now that's something else altogether. Their skin may hang lose around their face. Their bellies' geometric circumference may be the same as their age. Their complexion may not be worthy of a Cover Girl ad. Nevertheless, when old love walks by, I see beauty - a brilliant pearl of very great worth, and in its wake, it leaves a sense that in the midst of all the chaos of life, love can most definitely prevail.
Very well said--from one people watcher to another.
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