Love always feels like acceptance

Everyone has two eyes, a nose, a mouth, a neck, two hands.

There’s something similar and universal about being human.

And when you love yourself, everyone loves themselves the same, with the same quality of love and the experience is the same, I believe. The circumstances may be infinitely different, but the experience of loving oneself, is the same.

You’re not missing out because that boy or girl or parent didn’t love you. When you try to love yourself you sometimes compare it to how much better it might have felt if that other person loved you instead of you doing it. Oh that person with a glamorous, wilder, more intense and powerful love?

But love, comes quietly and simply and sneaks up around and next to you like a cat sitting affectionately and patiently near you, despite your strangeness and your pettiness and immature fantasies of revenge and your gloating and all those other hairy unattractive qualities. When you decide, hey it’s all fine by me, this human is what I’m going to be, I’m not going to love her halfway or conditionally but just like this, fully, and regardless of the circumstances of life, I don’t understand how there are variations of accepting. There is only one kind of acceptance of self and that is unconditional.

So that person would have loved you with the same love that they can give to themselves, which is at once both a maximum and minimum, and it would have been the same quality as the kind of love you give to yourself also, and so my point is that you are not missing out, there’s only one kind of love. The real kind of love will always feel the same. Love always feels like some sort of acceptance. I believe this is the great theme of human life, the fugue of generations, the inherited motif. Don’t wait for someone to accept you better than you can accept yourself right now, there won’t ever be a better time.

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