I thought about the word this morning. The scene in “True Romance,” flashed into my mind — the one were James Gandalfini’s character almost beats Patricia Arquette’s to death. As he prepares to kill her, she finds a corkscrew amid the rubble on the floor and holds it up to him, blood and snot and tears streaming down her face, and he tells her, “You got a lot of heart, kid.” That part always makes me crumble like a paper sack.
When we talk about someone having heart, or having the heart to do something, or not having the heart to do something, what we’re really talking about is hope, right?
Heart = hope.
If we have no hope, we have no heart. If we have hope, we find the heart to do whatever we need to do to keep going, to keep fighting, to find that corkscrew amid the rubble and hold it up against the world and say, “Nope, not today. Not before you take every ounce of hope that I can make it through this. I’m not giving up until you kill me.”
I’m a practical, pragmatic, strong, capable, fight through the pain, hold up the corkscrew, get the job done kind of gal. But I’m also as tender as a tulip and fall apart easily. That I’m quick to tear up has always frustrated and embarrassed me, but as I grow older, I’m starting to see it as almost an attribute, and the combo as what REAL heart is. Why would I want to walk through the world not being touched by everything I see and feel? Because it’s inconvenient? All I can say is, I’ve started buying waterproof mascara, because my tears mean I’m connected, and that connection means I’ve got hope. That hope means I’ve got heart. That heart, combined with my corkscrew, means I can do anything.
So can you.
Thank you for reading.
Peace and love on this wonderful Wednesday.