A life without intimacy is a life of survival. One marked by swift movements from one thing to the next, no time to stop and smell the roses, fill our cup to overflowing with the presence of others. Without intimacy, we will eventually come to see that we are treading water, wondering why we wake each day with the tug of longing, a growing feeling of loss that is slowly feeding into an ocean of emptiness.

Yes, it can be said that our accomplishments and our doings, our success at creating things, birthing and raising children, keeping all boats afloat – is enough. That our ability to juggle nine plates on the tips of spinning five-foot poles should be quite enough to ensure fulfillment.

And yet it is said, time and again, that the primary regret of those that lie on their deathbeds is that of not having embraced their loved ones more fully while they were still alive. The specter of regret sits next to these souls as they come to realize that they might have to come ‘round again to set the karma straight with those that they did not tend with the proper level of presence. Of vulnerability. Of intimacy.

We can forego this deathbed remorse. Preempt the consuming grief that accompanies such a feeling upon the moment of our parting.

For this, we must choose a life filled with intimacy. The practice of coming close to others in a way that is not meant to suffocate or demand self-definition, nor to cultivate a pseudo sense of presence, reveal only a half-baked version of our true self. Intimacy asks us to arrive sincerely at the doorstep of another’s heart, saying, Yes, I am here to show you all that I am and to see all that you are.

This means that all instinct to run and hide, skitter off and busy ourselves with some meaningless task when things get confusing or uncertain, must be tamed. We must stand in the fire of discomfort when the heat of shame, embarrassment or exposure threaten to send us into a state of invisibility, draw us away from the very ones with whom we yearn to deepen.

There will be voices that arise, telling you that you are not enough, that you might perish if you continue, that the effort required isn’t worth it. You will devise cunning ways to blame others for your disappearances, to point all focus away from the truth that you are terrified at the prospect of genuine, sustained intimacy.

These are the moments that require perseverance. A steady commitment to the task of plunging further in, greeting this shared, unknown territory with courage and curiosity.

For on the other side of all of your distractions and mis-directions, the scars that accompany a tender heart, sits the magnificence of life-affirming connection with other human beings. A fulfillment that comes from no other source, material or otherwise.

You must simply make the choice. To initiate. To stay in. To keep this delicate, essential dialogue in motion.