A year of loving fearlessly

The Plan

Jan: A month of spontaneous connection
In January I: made three surprise phone calls; sent six postcards (four of them homemade!); typed four love texts – one to a sick friend, one to a distant friend, one to share my moon, and one to tell a funny story; I had coffee with two friends and dinner with two others; I left “thinking of you” messages for three people and wrote long email love letters to two more; I watched a movie with one of my favorite people in the world, our TVs sitting 45 miles apart; I sent a card to someone who was down and shared a poem with someone dear; I tweeted (and DM’d) my love countless times, stayed in an uncomfortable conversation (twice), and walked around a lake holding hands with someone precious.

Feb : A month of hugs
In Februrary, I hugged: Jill, Deanna, Dillon, Charmaine, Brandon, Benny, Ben, John, Alan, Jacquie, Morgan, Josh, Joey, Matt, Chad, Otus, Mom, Dad, Danny, Amanda, Ben, Lindsay, Laura, Kelley, Ray, T.J., Jay, The Boy.

Mar: A month of giving what you need
What I learned in March: love is (maddeningly, wonderfully) unpredictable. You pour yourself out in one place, and you refill somewhere else entirely. Where your heart breaks and where it mends are rarely the same place, and that’s okay. In fact… I find that truth hugely reassuring.

Apr: A month of capturing love (in photographs)
Had so much fun with my camera in April, and, wow! So many of you sent me love pictures. Let’s keep going! Visit the Love Project Scenes page to see what we’ve got so far. And feel free (please, please, please!) to send me more pictures at zebrasoundsj (at) gmail (dot) com.

May: A month of self-love
In May, I played more, walked more, read more. I met new people and wandered over physical, emotional and intellectual landscapes that took my breath away. I learned the value of downtime, the power of self-forgiveness, the importance of not retreating just because my feelings were hurt. I also had my heart broken by people who could only stand on the sidelines and cheer… actually loving themselves was too much to ask. I think maybe the most important thing we can teach our children is to never mistake martyrdom for love, and to consider themselves as fiercely and lovingly as they consider the needs of others.

Jun: A month of graffiti (displays left for others to find)
Wow! June was a blast. Eventually I’ll put all the pictures on the Love Project Scenes page, but until then, look here, and here, and here. These days I always have my camera, so I’ll keep taking pictures, and I’ll keep leaving love lying around. I hope you will too. (Note: It’s hard to be sad, when you’re out leaving love traps for people to step in.) 

Jul: A month of (heartfelt, absolutely true, one-of-a-kind) compliments
July was an interesting, difficult, evolutionary month, full of doubts and reassurances, self-mantras and fatigue. In a weird, counter-intuitive way, I found it grounding to focus outward, saying nice (sometimes silly) things to strangers, telling people that I love why I love them in offbeat ways, acting on my sweetest impulses as often as possible… that’s what got me through July. Well, that and vacation. :)

Aug: A month of grand gestures
In August, I followed my heart, fully and without question. Instead of letting shyness or fear rule the day, I acted on my best, most loving impulses. When the risk of being embarrassed or rejected made me want to retreat, I stood my ground. I stepped forward. I reached out. If vulnerability is the key to fearless love (and I think it is), then during the month of August, I was badass.

Sep: A month of seeing
In September I learned this: We all want to be seen. All of us. And most of the time, we feel like we aren’t, really. We tell people things, our truths, our fears, and they immediately slip into fix-it mode or defense mode or let-me-tell-you-all-about-me mode. It happens so often that when someone says, from the heart, “tell me more,” it’s enough to break us open a little. It’s beautiful and disorienting and more powerful than we can know when we say the words. And I think it’s there, in the cracks that breaking open causes, in the light that falls through them and the way it makes us, at once, terribly vulnerable and newly brave… I think maybe that’s where the best love of all happens.

Oct: A month of love letters
In October I wrote 25 love letters;  here’s what I learned: There is something magical about the process, the act itself, beyond the finished (beautiful) product. It’s a magic made of quiet and focus and care, and practicing it changes you, fills you up with good stuff so there’s just less room for all the bullshit. And, like most of the loving acts I’ve embraced during this year of fearless love – from hugs to compliments to grand gestures – the love you put out is nothing compared to the love that comes back to you.

Nov: A month of gifts
In November, I made a cheesecake and I gave one of my favorite books to one of my favorite people. The book-as-gift wasn’t planned. It just happened, because it was that particular friend, in that particular moment, and I felt the value of our connection more intensely than ever before. I only remembered afterward that it was “the month of giving.” I’m still working on the sonnet, and I haven’t even started the glue-and-torch art piece I’d wanted to make for someone, but November was so full of absolute presence and meaningful connection, I can’t bring myself to feel disappointed. (In fact, I’d take those spontaneous, love-filled moments over gift-wrapped love anytime.)

Dec: A month of volunteering
To be honest, December didn’t turn out the way I planned, but it did remind me of the magic that often lays in wait when you dare (or are forced) to take a detour. I thought I’d spend the month filling boxes at a food distribution center; ladling soup at a kitchen that serves the homeless; cleaning pens, petting cats, brushing dogs at a rescue shelter. As it turns out, December is a popular month for volunteerism, and in each of those cases, my name was put on an as-needed list, and I was never called. So, instead, I wrote love letters, with one very special letter to Alenka. I wrote six letters for Amnesty International’s letter-writing campaign; donated five boxes of clothes, dishes and toys to Goodwill; and handmade my family’s Christmas presents, which wasn’t exactly volunteerism, I know, but it was an insane generous impulse I’m so, so glad I acted upon.