Fragments of Love
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MTSullivan
 March 03 2023
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    Over eight years had come and gone. Eight years in this place. First as a translator, then as a video editor. Now, I too, like so many others, heard the fateful words which would officially set my departure in motion. "Your role is not going to exist anymore." What I felt upon hearing the somewhat expected assertion was indifference. My boss might well have said, "Today is Monday." In that moment, the emotional resonance the statement elicited likely would have been the same. I felt nothing. The layoffs had been underway, with particularly alarming frequency, even prior to Covid. Up to this point, I fancied myself akin to Neo (of The Matrix fame), displaying an uncanny ability to dodge an onslaught of potentially fatal (career-wise) bullets. But instead of moving to the next scene, as Neo had, I was stuck on repeat and it was only a matter of time until I took one to the knee (Skyrim anyone?). The fact of the matter is, the time had come for a life-altering change, whether I felt hesitant toward it or not; and I more or less failed to care. Truly. That was, however, until I spoke with others.


    Twice, following the news of my job's oncoming finality, I was nearly moved to tears. Not upon discovering the end itself, but rather upon talking with and consequently experiencing kindness, or as I see them, fragments of love as expressed by colleagues. When I witnessed genuine sadness in their eyes and fielded offers of assistance, it was then that I felt something. The materialistic and ultimately trivial thing that is the job garnered no emotional response. Why would it? It is fleeting. There will be another, unless or until there's not. So the cycle goes. The same cannot be said for the concern and care revealed by those strong of heart; those of compassionate disposition; those who practice love. And it is this which struck me. The potency of love, no matter its size nor scale, forthrightly signals its relevance to us. It tells us it matters, when other things do not. And we know this, even without knowing it.


    The Bible conveys this outright. In an attempt to trap Jesus and subsequently force him to commit heresy in relation to the Law of Moses, a pharisee famously asked, "Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?" Jesus' reply? "Love The Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. And the second, love your neighbor as yourself." Not only was there a remarkable infallibility to the response, it spoke to the substantiality of love; of love being an (if not the) act worthy of practice; and of love's lasting essence. But love is reciprocal. There must be both a lover as well as a beloved. This, by its very nature, beckons us to reach out and connect with others. For without others, one is incapable of carrying-out this, the greatest of all commandments. What then, does love look like? How might it manifest itself when commonly guarded individuals go in and out of each others daily lives? Times of heightened desperation and uncertainty seem especially capable of exhuming such expression.


    In 2019, I chose to eat lunch at my workplace. Pork and potatoes; leftovers from the night before. It turned out, focusing on work while swallowing chunks of meat wasn't a great idea. A piece of meat lodged in my throat and I knew instantly my airway was blocked. I turned to the colleague (and friend) at my right, who hastily sprang into action, doing his best to Heimlich my way out of the predicament. It was slow going. It was loud and violent. Everyone on the open floorplan undoubtedly saw me struggling to survive. The raw exposure and potential embarrassment meant nothing to me. I thought of two things, aside from my hope for continued existence. I thought of my two young sons. I thought of how they would grow up without their biological father. How I would miss so much of their lives. I thought, too, of my wife. And how she would soon receive the news of my passing. How she would suddenly be tasked with raising two boys alone. How I desperately wished not to leave her with that challenge. These thoughts hurt worse than the inability to breathe.


    The struggle dragged on, eventually prompting my boss (also a man I proudly call friend) to yell at the top of his lungs for my colleague to do the Heimlich "harder!" Even now, as I remember the desperation in his voice and the look on his face it brings me to tears. Because that was love. Love from a professional, yet friendly source. It was love which prompted the colleague who ultimately saved my life and myself to embrace one another without pretense, at the resolution of the unwanted spectacle. I had experienced a brush with death. And throughout it all, from beginning to end, love is what stood out. Love is what mattered. And it is love which stays with me today.


    And so, I proceed to move on from my current job; this temporal thing which constituted a portion of my life. But I do so knowing it is love, whether whole (in Christ) or fragmentary (among each other), which transcends superficiality, materialism and time itself. With that knowledge, I am ready for the unknown; a place one need not fear. For while the totality of the place is yet to be revealed, I am certain love is there... because it is always is. And it is that which will continue to matter when the rest does not.

    love philosophy purpose superficial materialism time meaning transcendence near-death tragedy loss layoff job work relationships kindness truth jesus christian religious
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