A recent article in the New York Times speaks about love. I’m not talking about the love we see on TV, in the movies or read about. I am talking about the love that transcends the pain of the old love dying, the love that felt real until it is not there any longer.
Laura Munson is a distant neighbor of ours. She lives in Whitefish, MT. Just over the river and through a few woods from Sandpoint, ID. Also a transplant from New England, she carved out a life in Montana that was idyllic until her husband came home and told her he never loved her and wanted a divorce. Read the article to hear her describe her iterations.
Her mantra was, “It’s not about me.” It never is. We project on to each other to escape our pain. She held to a deep faith that she could only affect her world. She couldn’t change her husband. We never can. We often want to. Even when we think we have, it often backfires. The resentment comes back hard or we get what we thought we wanted, but proves to be not what we needed.
Each week in our men’s group, we support each of us through our BS to a new place of authenticity, a place of self-love. It is a place where what we do or have is not why we are loved. It is who we are being in the moment. After several of these moments we start to believe maybe we are loveable for just being ourselves.
Laura nails it. She is a woman of deep courage and love.