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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    Disclaimer: Poetic license is at work both here and in my books. Any errors or anomalies are through no fault of my editor. These were left deliberately at my expressed intention to clearly indicate that goodness does not require perfection.

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