Skip to main content

Love is...

inspired by the #doodleaday prompt for 3/8/17

Draw love. Without hearts or using the color red.

No problem. Those aren't really things I associate with love so much anyway. Valentine's Day, yes, but love? Nah.

As I was thinking about this prompt, I realized that I am a person that "overuses" the word love. I'm always telling people that I love their ideas. Their funky socks. Their faces. I was wondering if that cheapens "love."

Then I realized that was probably the stupidest thought I'd ever had.

I tell people I love them and their ideas and thoughts and whatevers because I DO. Love for me isn't scarce. I don't need to ration it. I don't need to hoard it for myself. When other people are clever or creative or unabashedly themselves, it makes me outrageously happy, and I want them to know. I need to tell them that these little bits of awesome are noticed. Appreciated.

So that brings us to the doodle. It's a circle - no beginning, no end, warm and safe inside like an embrace. But there's not enough paper for the love. It leaks off the sides. It has openings to let love in and out and people and things and ideas come and go as they need. I can't contain my love. Not on a sticky. Not to a few people or ideas. Not in my thoughts and actions.

Love's too big for that.

Comments

  1. Thanks so much for this. I have been having the same conversation with myself about my use of love, and I couldn't have worded my response better. I do want people to know that I think their ideas, stories, laughter, and yes, socks (especially hand knit) are remarkable and that they bring me joy. I stand in solidarity with you on the non-rationing of my love.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Hands on top...*

This whole post might be off, but I don't think so. | Source  Everyone has a Thing in education they just can't abide. I've worked with teachers who disagree with numbering students or allowing bathroom breaks outside of lunch and recess. There's the much maligned clip chart. I personally lose my stuffing when teachers keep students out of Music because they're missing work in class. But there's something else that's creeping up right behind that as my number one classroom no-no. Attention Getters. You know, the Power Teaching "Class" - "Yes" or the sing-songy call and response, "One, two, three. Eyes on me!" - "One, two, eyes on you!" There's a million of them, as many as there are really great teachers who use them. I certainly don't want to disparage the teachers who rely on them. Teachers use what works for them, and we're all individuals, right? Well, yes. Of course. But my problem is t...

A List That Actually Matters

I sort of wanted to give this post a cutesy title, like "My Edu-Valentines," but I'm incredibly serious about this. Yesterday, two of my favorite people on the planet, people I like and admire, were included in an exceedingly disappointing list of inspirational educators . (excuse me, "educationists.") They were both livid. As they should have been. The list was lily white and lacking women. Most of the people were not actually  teachers - which you know, makes them a lot less inspirational to those of us who spend our days surrounded with the bright future of the world. AND THEN, after being called out for the poor quality of the list, the author - who is not a teacher, but a "blogger and digital marketing biz" person and moderator of #GuruChats - about branding (of which I have  many thoughts ) - asked for suggestions to improve it. Okay, the first one is do your homework, don't run an algorithm. But then I took a couple of moments to sc...

Fuhgeddaboudit

I tweeted earlier "I think my biggest fear is amnesia." All joking aside (and obviously, all the replies were  jokes) - forgetting is terrifying to me. I'm reading What Alice Forgot  by Liane Moriarty, about a woman who wakes up from a fall and can't remember the last decade of her life. When she wakes, she feels like herself from 10 years ago, but around her, everything has changed. I've spent the first quarter of the book in fairly frantic tears, my chest tight. I don't want to forget. I NEVER want to forget what has happened to me - none of it. Good or bad. I can't imagine what it would be like to see a dear friend and not know them. To not be able to share a joke or a knowing look. In the story, the main character even forgets her children . She wakes up and is a stranger in her own life. I feel like it hits close to home, not just because I am a visceral reader, (I have some of the worst book hangovers you can imagine.) but because someone near ...