High Altitude

Historically, I have fallen in love like a swallow diving on the wind- haphazardly, in shallow bursts, too frequently, and without meditation on the consequences or an escape route. Like Alice following an impulsive obsession and slipping down the rabbit hole, this method has generally produced disastrous results. A downward spiral into emotional turmoil was the only way I knew how to get to love. But just think: falling. Rarely a good thing, right? Scraped knees. Broken glass. Bruised heart.

That's why this time I know it's going to stick. This has been one long, hopeful, delirious ascent. Not an uphill battle, mind you; more a leisurely escalation up a gently sloped elevation, one with bright promise at its peak. Without guessing what lay beyond the horizon, I set out over a year ago with no expectations, simply enjoying every step of the journey. Imagine my surprise when I discovered at the summit that the reward for my endurance and perseverance was the heart of the companion I'd been traveling with all along, which is more than I ever hoped for in this world. Best friend. Soul Mate. Hero.

I feel more than a little bit like the traveler in Pilgrim's Progress, who, setting out unaware of his final destination, arrives to find that he has already gained his reward along the way: his faith and salvation. Or like the boy in The Alchemist, who goes in search of the treasure promised in his Personal Legend and on that path finds fortune, friendship, and the love of his life. Happy accident. Coincidence. Fate.

At the Renewal Ball a week ago I introduced him — my first Renewal Ball date in six years who wasn't also wearing a skirt — to friends and colleagues as Brent, but you know him from the blogosphere as Shepcat.

This really shouldn't surprise anybody.