When I was younger, whilst harboring crushes on boys and being disappointed by these same crushes, I remember sitting on my bed, having just wiped away some tears, and my mom sat there too. ‘Guard your heart,’ she told me, her eyes pleading, alerting me. This was a reference to a wisdom teaching by King Solomon: “Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life” (Proverbs 4:23)
While I don’t disagree with the concept overall (I’ll probably contemplate on ‘the wellspring of life’ later), I often found it abrasive and constricting, mostly because I felt prescribed a ‘defensive’ stance in position to the rest of the world and relationships. ‘You like someone? Guard your heart.’ In other words, ‘Watch out!’ As a teenage girl, I wanted to explore, discover, connect. ‘Guarding my heart’ felt anti-exploratory. My heart would actually sink upon hearing this advice, like I was being told to ‘go back inside’.
In tandem to this teaching, a few years later, I was also admonished to look for a man who knew how to hold my heart. The tasks now assigned were ‘guard it’ and ‘wait for someone who could hold it’. No small feat. The curious thing is that in attempting to find someone who could hold it, it meant I had to trust and put down walls, so how did one guard their heart at the same time? I continued to fail at both assignments throughout my adult life. I did not find someone to hold it and my heart felt brutalized in the process.
The result has been a long time putting my heart back together and feeling quite unsure about the process in ‘finding someone’. At this point, fine, I’ll guard it. I’ll stay home. I’ll keep to myself. I’m sure most single adults will relate.
Lately, I have been working on creating new neural pathways to experience the things I’d like to experience, such as ‘being in love’ and feeling safe to be in love. The ecstasy of being in love, contrary to popular belief, does not require another person to be involved. I don’t mean one-side relationships or unrequited love (my forte). I mean, I am in love in a myriad of ways. I am in love with trees I pass by. I am in love with art I make. I am in love with other artists and their work. I am in love with kitchen dance parties. I am in love with piano music weaving through a house on a later summer evening. I am in love with walking barefoot on cold grass and running my fingers through a body of water. I am in love with bulky sweaters and long, rainy days. I am in love with humans gathering together in meaningful connection. And I’m in love with my own heart. I’m in love with my spirit, my essence. I really, really like this about myself. My approval on external expressions such as my body, my daily schedule, my job, or my personality might run the gamut based on my mood, but I can’t say that I’m unsatisfied with my own essence. In fact, I feel elated about it. It does seem to imply ‘the wellspring of life’.
Yesterday, on my way to collect an order of Indian food, I thought about the cherished conversation in a relationship when someone tells you ‘I’m so glad I’m with you. I’m so glad you exist.’ The rush of warmth that spills into your bloodstream to feel valued and celebrated by another is something to be savored. As I turned into the parking lot, I turned to myself and I said, ‘I’m so glad I am you. I really am so glad to be you.’ And that same spring of warmth transpired.
For so long, I think I’ve been traversing the earth like the story of the little baby animal looking for its mother. It goes from animal to animal, asking ‘Are you my mother?’ until it finally finds its real mother. Oh the relief. Back where it belongs. And I’ve treated my romantic aspirations much the same. ‘Will you hold my heart gently? Will you see me? Will you choose me? Do I belong to you? Or you? Or you?’ My heart needed to be held and the ache of wanting that urged me onward.
But when I told myself ‘I’m so glad to be you’, I heard myself also say, ‘I will hold your heart.’ In my imagination, I saw myself gently cup my heart in my hands and a deep exhale of relaxation followed. I can hold my own heart. I can be where my heart belongs. I can be ‘home’. In forty years, this hasn’t occurred to me before. Not only am I able to hold my own heart, I am by far the best person to hold it. I have insider insight to the tenderness, the admiration, the attentiveness, the celebration my heart craves. I can cradle it with caring awareness, securely, lovingly.
This feels far different to me from the stance of ‘guarding’ it. This feels more like knowing my heart is a garden full of desires, values, and truths. Truths are branched out across the garden. Some desires have new chutes or have gone dormant. Some values are bright and in bloom, some are scraggly and dry. I especially know how to nurture this place. I know that it needs sunshine and shelter and specific nutrients to sustain it. I know how to read my garden, how to be in tune with it. I know when its thirsty or needs more space. I know it deeply. I am the best person for this job, but here I have been, hoping to pawn off the work to someone else. I have either tried to unload the care of this beautiful place to someone who didn’t know how to garden or didn’t want to garden. I have let my garden struggle along until someone else could water it.
In this sense, I see the ‘guardianship’ of my heart, versus ‘guarding’ it’. I am the caretaker, the seer, the expert on this landscape. I am not just meant to keep pests out, while hoping for someone to come along with a watering can. I can turn on the hose and deeply nourish my heart. I can help my heart weather the elements. I can remove the tangles that threaten certain values or desires. I can give special attention to different areas that are needing it. I can hold space for my own heart and enjoy that feeling of love, bubbling from the center.
I am in love with this news. I am the one my heart needs. I am the medicine, the beholder, the beloved. I am its home. And I’m not going anywhere.
