Obviously, I’m not a fan of shortcuts. They’re usually the quickest way to somewhere I didn’t know I was going. 

Obviously, you have reason to know this about me already, my non-fandom of shortcuts. I’ve told you how old I am. (Wink, if you’ve got one to spare.)

However, in the attempt to honor a ‘make it simple please’ request, as well as my acceptance that I can never know in advance of trying, not ever know beforehand and until and as I actually try, whether an attempt to care to summarize a lifetime of failing forward will be helpful…or what might be helpful about it to anyone else, even one other person…who I have never met. I say, what the heck, I’ll try.

Even as I admit that I don’t know who that might be or how I might be of some help, I am still loving that unknown person and trusting this inexplicable process. So, whoever you are, wherever and whenever this finds you, I want you to know that you have been loved from afar…from the here of me to the there you…completely, hopelessly, and—dare I use the word?—rapturously.

Now for the shortcut:

     The only instances I have felt poorly about myself for not immediately knowing something, or someone, or anything, for that matter when I was asked… 

‘poorly’ meaning that I felt inadequate—less than—unqualified, rather useless—

…was when I told myself (and then believed it was true) that I should have known. I wanted to know, but I didn’t. I wanted to know the answer to any and every question that I might be ever asked because then you would have no reasonably reasoned reason, to not care about me, to not love me. It was sad, I know. It was then that I realized that if I needed a reason to love or to be loved in return, then that wouldn’t really be love, would it?

You tell me.

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