I have always loved the magic of lights.
Exposed bulbs strung from wood beamed ceilings, mason jars with Christmas lights tucked inside, the bird’s eye view of a city below illuminated house by tiny house on a Friday night. It reminds me that no matter the miles, we’re all fragile human beings, bumbling around trying to connect and shine bright in each others’ hearts.
A tomboy at heart, my childhood summers were spent running through the hills and valleys of my neighborhood, reaching for lightning bugs. They were always too far out of my grasp. But the energy, the sprinting, the hope that I might be quick enough? I loved it.
Now, when I pull up to my parent’s house at night, if I’m coming to visit for the weekend, it’s the shine of the front living room lamps, my dad sitting on the striped gold and red sofa. It’s the glow of a TV coming through the front windows, the ball game playing softly through the glass panes. That is a house lived in. That is love in a glass jar.
The night before I signed up for Match.com, I sat atop my pub height kitchen table in men’s sweatpants and sobbed. Sorry that I couldn’t adjust to life in a new city. Sorry that my guilty pleasure was watching movies where Girl Meets Boy and they fall in love, and out of love, and back in again.
I was embarrassed on that cherry wood table. Love felt magical then, like a lightning bug to be chased at eight thirty, the sun finally shutting its eyes for the evening. It felt like this possibility, if I grabbed my mason jar quick enough and stood just the right distance away and caught it.
So, with the promise of love so deep it hurts, and makes you grow, and become brave, I joined Match.
Last night, in my future brother-in-law’s garage, at midnight, the moon aglow behind us, J and I talked to his brother’s friend about love. “I told J, ‘Not everyone loves like us, you know? This is something special’,” I told her in that garage.
She told us about her boyfriend, a man who’s traveling to exotic beaches and sending her photos each morning, “Good morning, Jamie” etched in sand. She said not everyone does that.
We know it’s true. We talked about people who stop and see the world, who know what they have and hold tight, who appreciate the small moments. We talked about the feeling you get when you know you’ve got something good, when you want to spend the rest of your life by their side. And the glow, the light inside, the spills over and out of you, so that others see it too – that love is a spectrum and we are far, far on the generous side.
“I can see it on your faces,” she told us. “And in the pictures you post online.”
There is a glow, that all of us should be so lucky to have, that sits inside of us when we see an old, beloved friend, or a favorite cousin, or a baby brother. It’s the light that guides us home, the light that keeps us going, that tells us to try again, that pushes us toward our infallible dreams, that propels us through tough times.
Next summer, I’ll be lucky enough to stand in front of a man who loves me more than I could ever hope, who sees the good and bad and all the in-between moments, and see that same light shining back.
And the only thing that makes me happier than that is seeing that same moment for all of the people I care most about, for their shining light, for the lightning bug they so desperately want to catch, whatever it is – a book they’ve been writing, a job they’re searching for, a place to call home, a person to come home to.
Whatever it is, tonight & every night, I hope they that light.