This essay is about love, of course.
But, it’s also about something else. It’s about alignment in both life and work. I will end this essay with the latter. However, to properly introduce this gorgeous letter John Steinbeck wrote to his son, I will begin with the former.
Once, maybe twice, in a lifetime, you experience a Christ-like heartbreak.
It’s an ending so soul-crushing, it divides time itself. In the same way that historians measure the passing of centuries in BC and AD, you will measure the passing of years in Before Her and After Her.
Eventually, you will accept the loss of this person fully, completely—and in doing so, your suffering will be lifted and replaced with only a subtle, lingering sadness.
One day, when you least expect it, you will stumble into a beautiful stranger. And just like that—as sudden and dramatic as the passing of a storm—this stranger will become your new marker of time.
It will be different, though.
For you will have known what it means to have lost and you will not allow yourself to treat love so carelessly again.
You will take the lessons you learned from your previous heartbreak and apply them to being a better lover, partner and friend to this wonderful soul who is both deserving and encouraging of the very best of you.
There will be an overwhelming sense of anxiety in the early seasons of this new romantic connection—when the landscape is still humming with an incredible amount of uncertainty and possibility.
To cool this anxiety, I can think of no better salve than the words once written by Steinbeck in a letter to his son.
*John Steinbeck is typing now*
“Dear Thom:
We had your letter this morning. I will answer it from my point of view and of course Elaine will from hers.
First—if you are in love—that’s a good thing—that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone make it small or light to you. Second—There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind.
The other is an outpouring of everything good in you—of kindness and consideration and respect—not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.
You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply—of course it isn’t puppy love. But I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it—and that I can tell you.
Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it. The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it. If you love someone—there is no possible harm in saying so—only you must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must take that shyness into consideration.
Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also. It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another—but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.
Lastly, I know your feeling because I have it and I’m glad you have it.
We will be glad to meet Susan. She will be very welcome. But Elaine will make all such arrangements because that is her province and she will be very glad to. She knows about love too and maybe she can give you more help than I can.
And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens—The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.
Love,
Fa.”
That last line is everything.
As promised, I will close out this essay on the topic of alignment.
Steinbeck ends the above letter to his son with a line that doesn’t just apply to love, but to both life and work…
“Nothing good gets away.”
Over the past week, I noticed myself attempting to convince two people to remain in my life. Two people who were very much ready to go.
In trying to convince them, I caused myself a great deal of suffering. I share the Buddhist perspective that suffering is born from unmet desire. So, whenever I notice myself suffering, I ask: What am I wanting that reality is refusing?
Once you can name the desire, you can accept it. And once you’ve accepted it, you can release it.
Today, I was finally ready to let them go. Not out of spite. Not out of resentment. Not out of anger. But, instead, in pursuit of alignment.
I believe this is what Steinbeck was explaining to his son. When he writes that nothing good gets away, he isn’t saying, “If she leaves, you’re better off without her.” Instead, he is saying that love cannot be hurried nor persuaded.
In other words, what is right for you cannot be forced.
You want people to remain in your life of their own accord—not because you convinced, persuaded or begged them to stay. But, because they chose to stay.
Over the past few years, as I’ve attempted to find greater alignment in my life, work and relationships, I’ve repeated the following mantra to myself…
What is meant for me will stay. What isn’t will leave.
This applies not only to lovers, friends and colleagues, but also to opportunities.
When you notice yourself white-knuckling a person, an opportunity or a desired future, it’s an indicator that it’s time to let go.
For nothing good gets away.
Thank you for sharing the letter and your interpretation.
Keep going.
I would expect nothing less from Steinbeck. His letter was exquisite. That last line would make a great tattoo.