On Breakfast Tacos and Love

Breakfast tacos and ice-cold water. Most importantly, energy.

It’s one of the few days it surges through my body with the power of a flood. It bursts through me in the motion of my limbs, seeking to scream in ecstasy. My heart swirls in bliss. A tear comes to my eye, grieving for this side of me that is so often unwelcome in my poor body. I imagine streams of life, animated by this force, orthogonal to what feels possible in my normal physical state.

They look like an exuberantly mad love for the daffodils in meadowlands and the meaningless exchanges with strangers that make us smile—a shared signal that we both made it here, together. The sun is crisper. The car ride feels like a journey through sweet nostalgia with my fondest memories. I imagine a life beyond me, something “out there.”

This used to make me curse my current condition. But with maturity, I’m coming to learn—and will always be learning—that my life is right here. I can bring this love to bear not only on the Indonesian trees or salty ocean breeze, but also on my screaming cat asking for a blanket or the tender snowflakes that will melt as soon as they touch ground.

It’s a lesson in unconditional love: to frighteningly embrace the aspects of your circumstances—or even yourself—that you don’t wish to persist. It can feel as if loving these “lesser” things is an invitation for the mediocre to replace the incandescent. But love hallows all things. Woes and wounds turn to grace, like the earth ripped open for seeds to be planted and new life to spring forth.

Love everything.