Kind

 'Loneliness is not a longing for company, it is a longing for kind. And kind means people who can see you who you are, and that means they have enough intelligence and sensitivity and patience to do that."                        ~ Marilyn French

What do I mean by "kind"? Someone I can talk to and not feel foolish. Someone who thinks as I do - not judging by looks or wealth. Someone who has the same sense of beauty, who loves art, museums, theatre, parks, water bodies, flowers and birdsong. Someone who laughs and cries, who is open and honest. Someone who takes the time or makes time to be with me. And most important, to my mind, is someone who truly listens. 

Once, years ago, I tried to define "love". I researched, read dozens of books and, in the end, I decided that listening to the other kindly, not mockingly  is love. 

Sometimes I talk and talk and talk and suddenly realize that I have not ask the other how their life is going. This happened the other night with my sister Maggie. She is the sister who all my sisters turn to in crisis. She listens. She takes care of us when we cannot care for ourselves.  I paused my monologue and asked how she is doing. I took care to listen and not let my thoughts roam. Maggie didn't jabber but was casual speaking about matters big and small. I learned more about her day-to-day and health concerns. I felt closer to her.

This reminded me of women in the Wild Women Writing circle. Sometimes one or another pours out her heart when reading her writing and my heart responds. I feel so grateful that she has the courage. This also makes me feel bad because I don't often read. I am afraid of sharing me, afraid of sounding like a broken record.

The other day, an ordinary day, I burst out crying about Rob. I have no idea what prompted it. The grief lingers. I think I have reached a calmer place, a place of acceptance, and then I find myself angry at him for leaving me with all the day-to-day responsibilities and not being around to help me make decisions. He was always more sensible than me, more grounded but he, in turn, turned to me for help - usually when he wanted to have fun, spend a bit of money and needed permission. He told me once that he felt that he wasn't allowed to have fun. He had to be responsible. 

I meander, I pause and have a cigarette, and don't immediately take care of what has to be done. I know. I know. I eventually do. But the workload has doubled since his death and I want things completed lickety-split. But often here, there are issues not within my power to complete immediately. I am trying to learn patience. 

Slow down, you move too fast, you gotta make the moment last. I am writing in the bar with Virginie. There is such comfort here. I relate to her more than anyone in the village. She is still so young, an artist at heart - such a lovely heart. I told her that perhaps she should take a quarter turn (advice from Helen Luke) and view her life from another angle. Perhaps I should too. 

"May I have the courage today/ To live the life that I would love,/ To postpone my dream no longer/ But do at last what I came here for/ And waste my heart on fear no more."  ~ John O'Donohue