Otherness

i used to think that loving someone meant knowing everything about them. every mole on their back, every childhood memory that left a mark, every corner of their mind, however dark. i longed for these precious pieces of knowledge, to be trusted with them, and to trust someone with the pieces of me in return. i longed for them for the same reason we often long for things: bcoz we lack them in another place.

at the time, my relationships were sustained by the opposite of knowledge, by concealment: stories not told, feelings unexpressed, opinions withheld. and so, in a quiet place in my mind where i knew i wanted intimacy and this wasn't it, i dreamt of knowing every beat of another person. of a place where nothing was held back, not a single thought left unshared.

now i know that intimacy doesn’t work like that. not really. it does require us to share stories, feelings and opinions. but it also asks that we find the courage to accept that there are some parts of another person, and of ourselves, that we will never know entirely. as much as it is about intimately knowing someone, love is about accepting the mystery in each other too. not being threatened by the pieces of a partner or friend that are beyond your reach, and instead seeing that these unknown parts are what allow for mystery and beauty and newness, even after decades of knowing a person. isn't that a gift? 

i wish we'd realised sooner that love is about closeness, but it's also about tolerating the gap between all people. it might have spared us some heartbreak to understand that we can still engage and connect and be close, but respecting otherness is really valuable. when we can accept that we don’t know everything about each other, or ourselves, then we can remain open to experience.