The Blind Way Home

Mr. International and I have officially entered the Spanish era of our relationship.

After one month, his English is damn near perfect—still with a few charming imperfections that keep us laughing. So now, I’m challenging myself to speak Spanish with him. Uncomfortable, but good. A new layer of depth for our souls to speak.

And because I’m more present when speaking in Spanish, I’ve started to notice things. Like how I keep using the verbs gustar and encantar. To like. To love.

Mr. International jokes about it—how every new song is my favorite, how every new thing I do is the best thing to ever happen.

I’ve become a personality of love. And I’m living life through it.

But it hasn’t always been this way.

For most of my life, I’ve felt unsafe in love. I’ve watched it dim my light, bruise and burden me, manipulate, disappoint, and leave me with questions instead of answers.

It wasn’t until the other night at Mr. International’s place that I realized—I’ve been liberated from fear.

I reached for something in the fridge and smacked into the literal rock that is his right pec. He panicked immediately. “Are you okay?” he asked, eyes wide.

I was fine. Never met a fighter so afraid of hurting someone.

Then he pulled me into the tightest hug. I joked about his shoulder being dangerous.

He whispered, “You are so safe.”

And I am crying as I write these words: I am.

…

Some say love is the answer. Others say it’s the beginning.

I think it’s an arrival point that begins us anew.

I’m realizing that true love isn’t something we find in another person. It isn’t shaped by what we were taught, or what surrounded us growing up. It’s something we have to discover within ourselves, before we can recognize it around us.

And when we accept ourselves—each and every part—we are gifted an undefinable, unquantifiable, and unlimited capacity to experience love in every direction.

We even find it in moments that disguise themselves as terrifying and uncomfortable.

My all-time favorite book, Tuesdays with Morrie, talks about this. In a trust fall experiment, Morrie’s students were told to fall into the arms of their classmates. None of them could do it—until one girl closed her eyes.

Sometimes, you can’t believe what you see. You have to believe what you feel.

And if people are ever going to trust you, you must feel that you can trust them, too—even when you’re in the dark.

Even when you’re falling.

And for the first time in my life, I’m falling blindly.

Not with one eye open, projecting fear, or holding parts of myself back. Not worried I’ll wake up and realize the love was just an illusion.

No—I’m falling with complete and utter blindness. No hesitation. Just assurance.

That I’ll either be caught and held in the arms of love... or fall and pick myself up with grace.

And I have only the true acceptance of myself to thank.

Because I’ve looked at and loved every part of me—and I continue to do so as the darker corners resurface and ask for care.

Through this, I get to experience so much magic.

I get to sing and dance with discomfort.

…

In a way, Mr. International is discomfort. He’s a military man. He skydives multiple times a week. Drives a motorcycle. Fights professionally. He could definitely kill me with that right pec.

Every experience with him stretches me—speaking another language, meeting his family and friends and sometimes not understanding all their words, riding on a motorcycle for the first time.

And that very motorcycle presented a unique challenge this week.

After a perfect day—visiting his skydiving site, stepping into the airplanes, watching the sunset at Montserrat—the bike broke down in the leftmost lane of the freeway.

As it dropped from 90 km/h to 70 to 0 in less than 10 seconds, I relaxed into every beat of Mr. International’s calm presence. I breathed as he flicked the hazards on, as the car behind us slowed just in time, as smoke poured from the engine but he helped me off the bike with ease.

We crossed four lanes of traffic. Strangers stopped. We waved with gratitude.

And the hour-long tow truck wait? Turned into blasting Help! by The Beatles and dancing like lunatics on the side of the road.

And the adventure wasn’t over. We had to take a taxi—like normal people—and our driver seemed to spawn in from a fever dream. Not able to drive without making full eye contact with us, she almost crashed the car ten times in ten minutes.

But even in a blind taxi ride, I could only clutch Mr. International tighter—laughing through it all.

Because love is blind.
But it lights the way to see the soul.

I haven’t answered all my questions about it.

But I have found one truth.

One million reasons to sing, laugh, and dance.

One really good man.

And a trusting blindness.

I will love myself through the process of it all.

Because I am safe.
I. Am. Safe. In. Love.