A friend of mine was recounting the most romantic gestures he’s made to a long distance girlfriend.

Get this – he wrapped a helium Happy Birthday balloon in a box and sent it to her: when she opened the box, it floated out with a card attached to the string.

I think she cried.

In return, for his birthday, she sent him a nice leather wallet with a medallion of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travellers, inside to protect him while they were apart.

I cried.

“She told me I’m the first person she’s loved for who he is and not for who he can become.”

I find that an awfully poetic and philosophical statement and I’ve been thinking about it for the last few days.

It’s really quite lovely.

Not that I’ll make it my mantra: you can’t boil down all life’s philosophies into a Facebook meme as much as it would be nice to never have to ponder things again.

Obviously, philosophies are meant to be challenged: if a woman falls in love with a man for who he is at 25, she may become disappointed when he’s no longer the same at 26 or 30, etc.

But at the same time, is it possible to fall in love with who someone might become? I am certain I have done this a bazilion times. Sometimes I’m even in love before I go on the first date.

And yet there’s merit in this too – taking me for dinner never resembles anything like a job interview, an interrogation or an exam. There are no right answers, nothing to prove, no questionnaires to fill out. With me you’ve gotten the job before you’ve even applied.

Do you deserve it? No, but I have faith you’ll live up to the gig. And perhaps that’s why I’m so honestly disappointed when you don’t. I’m starting to understand how Jesus must feel.