Black Swan events are succinctly described in the Wikipedia article as “the event is a surprise (to the observer) and has a major impact. After the fact, the event is rationalized by hindsight.”

What does this have to do with love? It’s simple really… 

Every great love affair has its story. Like any great story, there is a beginning, a middle, and an end. The beginning is where all the classic fairy tales leave off.  The middle is where we find most solid partnerships, and the end is where we lament, we curse or we sigh.

In a previous post, I discussed the concept of soul mates following a conversation with my grandma. Based on related discussion since, it’s as if the details of 50+ years my grandparents were together – raising kids, missing each other, hating each other, but always remaining with each other – have washed away. She speaks fondly, wistfully, of when they first met and the tiny changes that would have prevented their meeting. She wonders: what are the odds?

In retrospect, it seems finely, perfectly, tuned. Never mind the 50 years of struggling despite distance, hardships, absences, irritations and the things that weigh us down in the every day. Those things don’t matter now.  She’s finally had time to catch her breath and reminisce. To remember his bright blue eyes, those nervous butterflies, and recognize the experience for what it must be: fated love.

Seeing her smirk at the thought of my grandfather after all they faced, and all they fought for, is like a glass of water to a heart wandering the sahara. Her happiness is almost more precious to me than my own. It’s beautiful to see. But was it fate?

I don’t know but I do know we can rationalize anything after the fact. Due to a rich chemical cocktail, infatuation can feel like life or death. Your heart is on the line in a very real way. Every glance feels as if the person in front of you can see your every weakness, as if your deepest secrets flutter inside your eyes. But you have to keep looking. How could this amazing experience not be guided by the cosmos?

Looking back on my own love life, I don’t like the idea of fate. Perhaps because it’s inconvenient to my current single status. If things were meant to be, and weren’t, I have to wait until the next BIG THING. It means that leaving past relationships might have been a real mistake that can’t be undone, or that this guy or that moment are not special because they aren’t fated or – worse – missing this date or having a quiet night in could throw the whole thing off course.

So, I’ll do what any human being who does not like a constraint will do: Ignore it.

With utmost respect and fondness for my grandma, and Cupid, of course.

Perhaps it’s not fate, or the flying spaghetti monster, steering our course and the fates of our hearts. Perhaps my grandpa met my grandma because, even in his naivete, he knew himself well enough to immediately recognize not just her outward beauty, but her kindness and integrity. Perhaps my grandma knew, beyond his big ears and poor punctuality, his yin would balance her yang.

Perhaps there was no rhyme or reason at all; perhaps they both just wanted each other badly enough to take a step. To fumble. To scream. To make up. To stick it out until one of them had to go.

What does it matter really? In retrospect, it looks perfect either way.

It turns out, this is what happens when you loosen your grip, slow down and create space for the world to work its magic.

This may seem strange coming from anyone with the kind of list from which today’s event can be crossed. That’s ok; life is often strange.

The truth is, the list is not about achieving experiences, it’s about creating magic.

And anyway, I like it better this way.

In other words: Slow Lifestyle achieved.

Both had shared the “how we met” story a dozen times over the years. They both tell it differently, but the gist is the same:

He saw her walking on the sidewalk as he passed on the bus. He pointed to her and told his buddy, “I’m going to marry that girl.” His friend told him he was crazy. By the end of the night, he worked up the nerve to help her with her coat as she left. A nervous American soldier and a hard-working British girl walking to the bus stop together. They were married over 50 years before he passed away.

After she recounted the story I smiled, relishing the few extra details that show up with each re-telling, and asked, “But how did you feel? Did you love him right away? Did you have that gut feeling that he was ‘the one’?” I stopped before referencing the thunderbolt.  If soul mates are real, then they were each other’s and I wanted to know: How do you know?

She stared into space as if she had never thought about it before. “He was nice,” she finally said. Then she added, “I haven’t really thought about it before.”*

A romantic she is not.

I went home that day feeling a bit forlorn. How could she have so little to say about an encounter that would ultimately be so profound and life-changing? The woman who can guess the circumference of a pregnant woman’s belly from 30 feet away. (She kills it at baby showers!) The woman who gets those same instincts as I do before something bad happens or when we both meet someone who is untrustworthy. The woman who taught me to trust those instincts.

How could she have had no idea that by letting this gangly farmboy help her with her coat that her life would be taken down a totally different path than she could have ever expected? It occurred to me then that she probably just did not care. She was probably worrying about “more important things” or, perhaps, she just went with it.

Bah. Who does that?

Then, something strange happened. Every visit since, she’s warmed up a bit more. She’s shared more stories about the two of them and the ‘good ole days.’ She even stared off one day into space and said, unprovoked, “You’ll meet the one and, when you do, you won’t know what hit you.”

Could it be? Is she a closet believer in the thunderbolt?

Today. TODAY. She was eager to share a stack of old photographs of my grandpa. There were some of my mom as well. There was even a tin image of a great-great-grandfather as an infant. Then she showed me this one and said, “That was before he came to get me.”

I looked at the picture and just blinked. It made no sense with the timeline. Clearly, this was a picture taken by his family in Indiana.

She said, “You know, I really think there must be something bigger out there.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“There must be something more guiding it all, the way it all worked out. He was supposed to go straight to Korea but something happened with the transportation and they were put in England and made to wait for a while. If he had not had to wait, we would never have met.”

I smiled. Nay, I beamed. He would never have been on that bus to see her walking to the dance hall they would both ultimately meet in. She was not even planning to go out dancing that night and, if her friend had not dragged her out, she would not have been walking on that sidewalk for him to spot.

She concluded, “You know, I think that there is someone out there for everyone. That some people are just meant to be together and that things work out so that they can be. Soul mates…”

Do you think soul mates exist? Have you met yours?

It can refer to someone who steals jokes or an untrained, sloppy tennis swing. Turn it into a verb, as the title of this post does, and you’re implying cuts into some object. The kind of activity you’d cringe at in the eleventh sequel to the movie Saw.

In the 90s, the term hacking referred to computer programming (and an awesome movie). The Kinect game system has been hacked worldwide to create the kinds of tools once only imagined by the likes of Gene Roddenberry.

Thanks to lifehacker.com and Four Hour Body, hacking is now attributable to more than just gore and theft. It has come to mean taking “what is” and making it into something more.

The more I meet people who doggedly pursue their passion, and the more I am able to reach out and hug the people I know tight and say, “I love you,” the more I know that my heart has been hacked.

Conscious or not, it was not working right before. It pumped regularly, speeding up during tennis or moments of pressure, and slowing down in those rare moments of rest. Something was amiss, though. Unsatisfied, I began to tinker, like a child with a VCR.

Things got messy but I came out with the equivalent of a streaming Netflix account in its place. And I know I am not alone.

If you have ever taken your heart into your own hands and refused to quit, my hat goes off to you. Especially if you’re still sitting on the living room floor with the VCR in pieces. It will all come together, I promise.

Ooh! This one is from Italy!

Step 2: Open excitedly!

Papercuts make epic scars so go forth boldly!

Step 3: Read… also excitedly!

Step 4: Smile, or otherwise emote, in real-time!

Step 5: Grab a note card and pen to reply.

Using a Sharpie shows commitment.

Step 6: Actually reply.*

Step 8: Type what you believe the address to be in the Google search engine based on the handwriting.

Step 8a: Get schooled by Google.

Note: The italics are to ensure that you feel completely patronized.

Step 8b:  Click on the address and see an image of the building your friend lives in as well as satellite images of their entire neighborhood.

Step 8c: Click again and see what time it is and find a nearby bus to take.

Step 8d: Feel like a creepy stalker on complete accident.

Step 9: Write corrected address on note and determine correct postage.

Tip: Go straight to the USPS website to find out because, let’s face it, Google was kind of a jerk about it before.

Step 10: Apply postage and drop in the nearest mailbox.

Optional Final Step: Write a blog post about it (low-resolution action shots optional). If you lack the time, you can simply complain about how creepy Google made you feel using Twitter. Or maybe via a Facebook update? Definitely not a G+ update, though. They already know way too much…

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*This is a pretty critical step in the process. 

It sounds brutal but it makes good sense. You don’t want to send your armed forces into battle without a decent taste of what’s in store.

While love is not a war, or even a battlefield, the same could be said for the human heart.

Where combatives teach the soldier to be prepared for anything, loving others teaches our hearts the same. Sometimes it’s brutal and messy but in the end we have the chance to come out stronger and more capable.

Each heart we encounter is a chance for practice. Heart combatives, if you will.

Japanese philosopher, swordsman and author of Book of Five Rings, Miyamoto Musashi, once said,

“You can only fight the way you practice.”

Let’s practice boldly and with compassion as we never know when this will be our last round.

There have been moments in life when I have completely ducked my head into the sand, or covered my ears and said, “Lalalala! Not listening!” or – my personal favorite – simply announced, “I do not want to talk about this,” and walked out of the room as if that moment was something that could be left in a room like an old box of photographs.

None of this makes me special, of course.

It’s human nature. We want to protect our hearts, especially once they’ve been broken. Criticism is scary. Being left or rejected by someone we care for is terrifying. Taking risks, or rather the risk of failure, is so scary it’s paralyzing.

The problem with ducking your head in the sand, or covering your ears, or walking away, is the fatigue. Eventually, your neck and arms and legs are so tired you just want to sit down and cry. Which, in the end, is a far more vulnerable place to be.

Peering out over the edge of the plane last May, I hesitated. My whole being froze and said, “No.” This probably happens all the time. Luckily, I was strapped like a baby kangaroo to a human being more bold than myself.

Floating to the ground, I had feelings that were unexpressed and – suddenly – they seemed a lot more important. I wanted to tell someone, “You matter to me.”

Then, I decided against it because I was too afraid.

Yeah.

Within a few days, this same hesitation began showing up everywhere. Not that it was new, it’s probably always been there, it had just never been quite so apparent before. After a few encounters, impatience got the best of me. I started making the jump more and more, in matters big and small.

Then, I found and read this book.

Then, I wondered: Maybe it’s not really jumping, maybe it’s all just falling.

Despite the topic of the book, this is not about falling in love or romance. This is not limited to so-called “matters of the heart.*” This is about hesitating – or holding back – because you think it will keep you safe. It won’t. Nothing really can.

I finally pulled the trigger and drafted a note to the person in question, a role model. It turned out just fine.

If you’re in a situation now where you’re hesitating to share appreciation for someone, ask a difficult question, or even say goodbye, I challenge you to act and to do it soon. Don’t rush it but don’t feed the fear either.

Eventually, if you’re persistent, you’ll be able to make the jump (fall?) without hesitation.

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*What isn’t a “matter of the heart?”

I rambled for a few minutes about all the things I want. It all felt like a load of crap. 

Bucket lists are an admirable practice. It’s important to take time to assess where you’ve been, what you want and make a plan to get there. If you’re into that sort of thing…

There are some people who have amazing creativity and nerve in creating their lists. These lists are awe-inspiring and put the standard “101 things to do before you die” to shame.

Uncomfortable without a list, and waiting for midnight to strike on my 28th birthday, I sat down to brainstorm one.

Then, I answered some emails.  Then, I hung up my laundry. Then, I took a phone call that turned into an hour of pleasant rambling.  Just before starting to do the dishes, I recognized the avoidance and shelved the whole thing. I don’t want one and, frankly, I don’t need one.

High-fiving a penguin sounds really awesome, for example, and the journey it would take to get there could be such a great story. Traveling is fun, penguins are adorable and who doesn’t love a solid high-five?!

via motivatedphotos.com

But the reality is that most people don’t want to high-five a penguin, they want to have experiences that rock the heart. 

Maybe it’s just frustrating because ‘the rest of my life’ feels like a long time (that will inevitably race by like wildfire) but I’m not convinced you need to a bucket list to truly live. You can run around the entire globe and meet a million people and become completely fearless without really ever letting anything sink in deeply. Running around is often just that: running around.

For many of us, the last few years is proof that there is no way to know what life will look like in the upcoming few.  With that, and my mom’s brief life in mind, I do something every day that scares me. That daily commitment has led to amazing experiences and incredible connections in a way that feels accidental but… perfect. None of it was on a bucket list anywhere.

I’m convinced that even if I experience none of the amazing things that could be listed on a personalized bucket list, life will be better than if I did them all because what I can imagine is nothing compared to what is possible with an open mind and heart.