The Love Haters

by Katherine Center

People in good relationships had to appreciate each other—say thank you, give compliments, notice what their partner was getting right—in ways that created a cushion of warmth and kindness that eased everything else.

This was it. This was the phobia. Being exposed, in plain daylight, with nowhere to hide—and then being … rejected. By anyone. Even a stranger. A beautiful stranger in this case, but still. I wasn’t afraid of bathing suits. I was afraid of being seen.

“Because old people,” Rue said, “don’t have as much time left. And they know it. It’s called a time horizon—a sense of how much time we have remaining. For teenagers, it’s vast. It’s infinite. But as we get older, it shortens and shortens—and we can’t help but feel it. As it shrinks, it makes everything more precious. We appreciate the days more because there are fewer of them to come. And it’s really true. I felt it so much today. How fast it all goes. How much we have to be thankful for. What a miracle each breath is.”

It was about the deep, enduring comfort that comes from looking at your life for exactly what it is, and exactly how it’s unfolded—and really seeing it. The past can’t hurt you now like it did then. The story of your life is always full of mystery. You can unfold it on a table like a map, and study it, and understand it in new ways. It’s not different, but you are.