Dear Heart,

I must admit: I thought it would be easy, writing a letter to you. I'm a romantic. I think about you all the time. I blog about sex & relationships, for crying out loud. Yet here I sit, stymied.

Awed.

By your range of emotion. I soon learned that the lowest lows beget the highest highs. That my willingness to dive into the dark was sometimes rewarded with soaring bliss.

By your resilience. We've known darkness I wish we hadn't, and we can't get back what we lost there. Still, even while we were spinning downward, the journey back had begun.

By your faith. In the goodness of others, in the existence of love. Together, we hold fast to our belief that we will find what we seek.

I couldn't live this life without you, Heart.

And I guess that's what this letter should really be about: The number of times I've wondered if I could. The number of times I've imagined a light switch on my heart, and almost wished I could switch it to "off."

If only I didn't yearn for love, for connection. If only I could be a machine. No loneliness. No pain.

If only I could be even more of a work horse. Never stopping for a date. Never desiring to share my life with another. Never needing to spend the time that that necessarily calls for.

If only that entire aspect of my life would just go away, why, I'd have so much more time! And no sadness to slow me down. Maybe I'd be a working director in no time, sans romantic distractions.

I'm not sure what it says about me that I can hardly start this train of thought without hitting right into a wall that's related to how I started it in the first place. My first thought is always: How could I possibly direct actors if my heart was switched off? I would split open my soul for an actor if I thought it would help the performance. Every ounce of energy and emotion I bring to set is for them and the entire production team.

What a gift you are, my Heart. For the ability to truly connect with others, for my empathy, for my very emotional stamina, comes from you. The best of me.

My favorite flaws come from you, too. Every time I fell too fast, too hard into love. Every time I gave something or someone one too many dates, or one too many months. A second chance. A third. Too much hope? I'll take it.

Along with the lessons learned.

For you, my Heart, are a risk taker. Together we walk the fine line between brave and stupid, with something at least marginally related to aplomb.

We have honed the art of taking constructive criticism. We insist on expecting the best from people first.

And my Heart, you and I have mastered the skill of dusting ourselves off and picking ourselves up.

I feel guilty when I think about the light switch. When I wish I could turn you off and be done with you. When my mind betrays you, my Heart.

Thankfully, you beat too strong for thoughts like that to be anything but fleeting.

~

Contributing editor Liz Rizzo also blogs at Everyday Goddess