No fear in love

There’s an old saying that love ‘keeps no records of wrongdoing’.

I find it comforting to know that mistakes that I have made won’t be used against me in the future. That in a healthy relationship, through a process of owning up, seeking forgiveness, and restoring trust, mistakes and failures can be let go.

Love chooses to forget the times we stuffed up and remember the times we nailed it. It thinks that the times we managed to support, encourage, be present for and take care of others, is more important to focus on that the times when we didn’t do that.

James Clear would put it like this, ‘praise the good, ignore the bad’.

I like that kind of love. It is outrageously generous.

But I don’t always see, experience, or show that kind of love. I can remember times, pretty clearly, when someone didn’t meet my expectations of love, and also many times when I didn’t meet my own expectations of what love looks like to them.

The opposite of love is fear. When I act in a way that directly contradicts what love is, I know that I am no longer acting in love, but in fear.

Fear does keep records of wrongdoing. Fear remembers them, keeps track of them and then drags them up to use as a weapon any time it feels threatened.

Fear destroys relationships. It is outrageously stingy.

To move away from fear and towards love means acknowledging the fear, perhaps even unpacking it, and choosing to put it aside so that you can experience all that love has to offer.

Fade

I am amazed by the sheer amount of people that are alive in this moment. Over 7.9 billion people is impossible to imagine. It is extraordinary, and overwhelming and humbling.

Out of that 7.9 billion, how many people will know me? Dunbar’s number suggests that we don’t really have the capacity to have more than 150 meaningful relationships.

Out of that 150, how many will really do life with me? Jim Rohn said that you are the average of the 5 people that you spend the most time with.

So, not many.

How many will remember me?

Of the people who lived 100 years ago, (about 2 billion of them), I have heard of, maybe, a handful. A dozen at most, and probably the same names that you may know. The rest of them, well they might have influenced how I live but I don’t know their names or their story.

So, logic would suggest that in 100 years no one will remember me, and no one will remember you. (Sorry).

I will fade.

That’s okay.

However, what I do will have a lasting effect. Every act will create an impact.

Specifically, generous acts multiply. They grow over time as they encourage others to be generous and create ripple effects to people that you will never know in places that you will never travel to. Generosity will not fade. It will last forever.

Leave a legacy. Be generous.

How Do You Remember Well When You Don’t Want To?

It’s not uncommon for me to be confused by a mix of emotions. I’m getting used to the mixed bag that comes up during this time of year. Australia Day, Easter and now Anzac Day, all bring with them joy and sorrow, often at the same time. It has created a new emotion in me, I call it the ‘happysad’. Most of the time I will try and avoid it, but any emotion avoided only builds up to appear in other ways, creating unexplained grumpiness and ruining the day. In an attempt to enjoy Anzac Day this year, to somehow remember and celebrate the sacrifice of so many in the all-too-many wars that have happened and continue to happen, this is me sitting with the ‘happysad’ mixture.

It starts with a question, which, like the new emotion, is complex and doesn’t make much sense.

How do you honour the sacrifice made without glorifying the violence and devastation, mixed sometimes with pure evil, but not forgetting that we exist because of what has gone before, without condoning the use of young men and women as pawns in a greater battle of egos, but acknowledging that we owe a great deal to brave men and women who have faced something I never have (and hopefully never will), although recognising that it’s not right that they had to face that either?

Or, to put it more bluntly, how is it possible to hate something (like war) with such a deep seeded passion, but enjoy its fruits because I live a luxurious life of freedom in Australia?

Here’s what I have so far.

You remember it well. That involves stopping and reflecting on what has been. Listening to stories, honouring those who were there and embracing it as part of our history. Avoiding this reality will only serve to show disrespect for those who have taken part in any war, and their families, friends and communities.

You learn what you can. For me, war teaches that life is valuable. That should go without saying, but it is true. Every person killed as a result of conflict, large or small, is a loss for all of us. In saying that, there are very few winners in a war. The side that claims the victory is the side that has lost the least. That hardly seems like winning. Everyone gets damaged in a fight, when the scale of the fight is larger than a few people, those who get damaged the most are often the people on the sidelines who aren’t involved. Collateral damage is not the cost of doing business, it is a long list of people in the wrong place at the wrong time, who have names, a family, hopes and dreams that will never become reality.

You live well. Without a sense of guilt or shame, but with a strong sense of responsibility shaped from the understanding that we stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before. Whether we like it or not. The least we can do is to live in such a way that we benefit those around us, near and far, through a generous life.

It’s not a complete list, but it’s a starting point to embrace the ‘happysad’ day that is Anzac Day.