I met a guy en route to the Camino de Santiago, a truly incredible one. He’s someone who is grounded, rooted in himself and in sacred soil. Both feet firmly planted with a good head on his shoulders, and a soft, fleshy heart that is alive and beating – beating goodness, beating hope, beating love.

I walked with him for two weeks and learned many lessons – countless. One was a sure confidence in who you are. He was someone who was secure in his own skin; confident, not cocky – there’s a fine line. It was the kind of confidence that was contagious, like a sneeze spread onto a row of dried dandelions, dandelions awaiting someone to make their wish, dispersing and inspiring the same kind of self assuredness in others. It was something I admired about him.

He was also surprisingly thoughtful, the type of thoughtfulness that creeps up behind you playfully whispering boo and tickling your sides until a laugh escapes. It caught me unawares at times. Thoughtfulness in the form of a sandwich made for my lunch the next day greeting me in the fridge; an Aquarius drink bought, sitting on the table in front of me; a rubbing of the shoulders when my aching muscles screamed help. It was those small gestures of kindness, those grand movements of impact that really warmed me to him. Now, the sweet moments are becoming a distant memory, although my heart still remembers the warmth and the care.

I really despise the word heartbreak. I don’t like the term. No, not one bit.

Break, broke, broken, all refer to hard things. Like glass or ice, something shatterable. I’ve broken many things over the years, most by accident, some on purpose. Vases have slipped from my hands shattering on impact, into many pieces. Suddenly fractioned, divided. Often, unable to be fixed.

The break in heartbreak gives off an air that the owner’s heart in question is somehow damaged goods, beyond repair, beyond healing. Additionally, to be broken in that way, it almost implies that the heart has to be hardened like glass, cold even, so that when any heat (pain) is applied, the temperature difference causes breakage.

I don’t want to have a cold, hard heart though that because of its hardness cannot withstand the break, being unable to withstand the fall, it shatters. Each piece scattering to a different part of the floor, rushing to shelter. If one were to have a hard heart, I suppose they might be afraid of it getting broken, knowing it was fragile, too fragile to withstand any form of crack or splinter. It might lead to an over protection, a hyper vigilance, a fear that would cause the heart to lose resistance through lack of exposure. This lack makes it delicate. Weak. Feeble. With the shatter, thus the break.

Alternatively, if we were to keep our hearts deliciously soft , squishy to the touch, capable of feeling emotion so that the heart would increase in elasticity, maybe our hearts (like muscles) would become durable, yet malleable enough to withstand a fall. Maybe they would get used to a certain amount of pressure in the form of romantic disappointment, familial hurt, intentional kindness…both love and pain, joy and grief, and liken to a rubber ball, bouncing back. Springing forth. Up and out.

Heartbruise, not heartbreak. If something is bruised, it implies fleshiness and a certain amount of softness. Like a mango. Not broken, only bruised. Not irreparable, only aching. If the heart can be bruised then it is still cushiony, still human, still warm. Break sounds final, permanent and unable to come back from, while bruise is temporary, healable, with an end in sight. Achievable. Reachable. Obtainable.

When the heart suffers a blow, the act is painful and the heart is wounded – purpled with bluish tones, yet still tender. Rather than shattering on impact, it absorbs the pain, using it to grow and become stronger.

Strangely, the very knowledge that the heart is able to be bruised, that it still pulses with emotion and has the capacity to feel is reassuring. If healing, then hope. If hope, healing. Once the softness is applied not only to heart, but also to outlook it would seem that the true adventure begins. Step by step. Beat by beat. Slowly and with care, tenderly holding our hearts with a steady and even hand and not afraid to fall. With less fear and more love.