A few weeks ago I went to a bonfire on campus. I know: I thought it was pretty unique, too. Tradition here says if the football team beats two particular schools in the same season, a bonfire is to be lit in celebration. Since the team kept up their end of the bargain, I was soon outside with the rest of campus--at night and in 25 degree temps--to see that tall pyre of wood burn, baby, burn!
It was pretty amazing, to be honest. So big and bright and beautiful, just like you might expect. I loved the whole excitement and novelty of it all as I had never been to a bonfire before. I almost felt like Sandy from the movie "Grease" looking out for my own Danny Zuko. (I ended up having to settle for the marching band and the football team instead, but that ended up only adding to the evening's charm).
As the ceremony first began, though, I think a lot of us were standing there wondering, Can we possibly skip the lengthy speeches and just light this thing already? (I mean, it was COLD. And dark). But not too much later, after some talk and cheers, local firefighters approached the pyre with what looked like rosy, glowing flares. I think we all expected for the pile to instantaneously erupt into flames as soon as they got so much as a foot near it, much like when a cartoon character lights a fuse.
After all, isn't that what bonfires are meant to do?
But as we watched them lightly and methodically tapping certain points of the pile, the unimaginable happened. That being nothing. I laughed to myself in disbelief. My friends and I whispered to each other, "Uh, is this actually going to happen?" We wondered if it was just too cold or if the pile was stacked incorrectly. I mean, we were promised a bonfire. And all we saw were tiny points of light that lingered but didn't seem to be doing much of anything.
Where was the heat? Where was the fire?
I swear, sometimes my dating life can feel just like this: like I'm standing around waiting for a fire to start. And just like with the flame that night, sometimes I can get a little impatient about it. Case in point: once I was dating a guy I had met online, a dreamy-looking ex-basketballer from my area. Fast forward through a really flirtatious night together--I think it was our second date--and I found myself smooching him for quite a while. I mean, he was fun and hot. Thus, our make-out session was even more fun and hot. Talk about heat! Talk about fire!
Only problem?
Not every flame is meant to burn for a long time. But I was too impatient to accept this. So even when I could tell the flame was quickly dying, instead of just letting the embers re-ignite (or die down) on their own I kept trying to relight the spark I felt that fun night. Like the firefighters overseeing the fire that evening on campus, I was practically dashing it with a little kerosene in the hopes it would re-ignite. Sure, doing that might get things cooking very fast, but no flame can be sustained once the fake fuel runs out. And looking back, I realize things just got too hot too fast. When that happens, it's inevitable things will burn out quickly. And we definitely did.
But where some flames burn too big too soon, some flames never even catch fire. And on a recent date, this was unfortunately the case. There wasn't so much as a spark. Sure, the guy was friendly and polite and I really appreciate that but other than both of us being friendly and polite, there was no real connection. You know it is not going well when halfway through a date you think to yourself, "I wish I was home, reading a book." With the former guy, we burned too hot, too fast. With this guy, the materials weren't conducive to heat at all and I couldn't get so much as one spark to appear.
Since I've been experiencing too much heat or none at all lately, I have a new thought on love: taking a bonfire approach. Let me explain.
When those initial sparks were ignited that cold night at the bonfire, it was hard to tell if anything was even going on. They were just little lingering points of light: you could see them slightly but there was nothing grand about them.
Is this any different than when you first meet someone with long-term potential? I mean, you have that little flicker in your belly as you enjoy your first laugh together but there is no guarantee that the burning fires of true love will definitely follow. But you keep going anyway, stoking those early flares with openness and conversation and possibly fanning those initial glimmers, those little lingering points of light. You hope for the best. Because deep down you know, little lights that linger can maybe grow into a love that is large and substantial. This is where I want to be, happily sandwiched between too much heat and none at all. When I am at my most impatient, and things are running either too hot or too cold, I need to remember: there is a love like this to look forward to.
Those initial sparks seemed to stay the same for a while that night of the bonfire, so I turned to chat with a friend. When I turned back a few minutes later, the flames had, slowly and of their won accord, grown slightly bigger. Things were getting a bit exciting. If I learned anything from that bonfire it was that even when it appears like nothing grand is happening, a lot more can actually be smoldering just beneath the surface.
A colleague asked me to take pictures of the pyre, now actually aflame. As I was moving around amongst the crowd to get the best shots, I marveled at just how big the flames had grown and how truly radiant they were. The flame had grown from a little spark to an inferno. It was a bit encouraging to see how slow and steady could eventually lead to somewhere pretty wonderful.
It was all from a few little sparks. And all it took was some time.
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