There is little that can truly, realistically prepare you
for marriage.
You may have had an inspired sermon during your ceremony,
one with a more progressive minister who clued you in to the roller coaster and
made a snappy joke about picking socks up off the floor. Maybe you grew up
together and knew each other’s families and what you were getting yourself into,
or perhaps you’re the owner of an old soul, wise beyond your age and richly
aware of who you were and what you would be for one another. But even then: it
is a contract made at the beginning of a million unknown circumstances, and
difficult to believe anyone could be prepared for the fraught positions that
time will inevitably move us into.
Our service was more traditional, but we did attend
a series of premarital counseling sessions during which my husband’s eyes were
mostly glassed over with boredom and I answered questions and shared anecdotes
with zealous sincerity that I am sure annoyed everyone in the room. I was
certain that my honesty and enthusiasm would yield maximum absorption of
everything I needed to know about getting along, serving one another, giving in
and holding fast, division of labor, how to talk about finances and how to be
quiet when you want to scream. Etcetera etcetera.
It did not. There was, at the time, no hook to hang it on.
And then we were married. It was terrifying. I remember
standing in front of a mirror in full bridal mode, searching the room for a
sign, clinging desperately to borrowed and blue. But despite my hesitations,
the music played and I walked down the aisle toward this man I loved but barely knew, said
yes, ate some cake, and it was done.
The first two years were easy. It was like it had been. And
then we decided to have children, and the roller coaster we’d avoided
up to that point began to crank and churn, lift us off the ground and up to
uneasy heights. But it isn't just children that changes the altitude, it’s thirtysomething. Marriage in your late
30’s, life in your late 30’s, is noticeably different from what I've lived
through thus far. We are all making decisions and directional shifts that
seem slight but have great consequences.
Choices as insignificant as what jokes I laugh at or what I wear to drop
my kids off in the morning; little tells, rumors of what kind of person I am,
what kind of parent, what kind of wife, what kind of friend.
Our 8th anniversary is today. We will go somewhere
and have salty margaritas and probably not do much reflecting outside the
exchange of stories of his work, which is hearty right now, bitty funnies about
the children, things they did or said while one of us was out. We’ll renew our
promise not to drive foreign cars or want for more than a really great vacation
every year. To keep life simple and removed from that place where material
things start to matter. To fight less and love more and search until we find
the humor in things.
My husband lives for football. Causing him continued
emotional stress is the fact that, for the last 30 years and probably the next
50 the teams he claims his own are perennial underdogs. Try as they may to
bolster their rosters and improve the coaching staff, little changes from year
to year with the exception of the outing of a particularly bad kicker. In 2008 his
Alma mater traveled upstate for their annual, scheduled beating by a
division 1 powerhouse. This is not an epic tale about the little guy winning,
it is, however, a glimpse into who this man is, sitting there in the stands as only
the home side of the scoreboard climbed, chewing his nails and believing in
that ever elusive game changing moment.
He insisted that we stay until the very last second of the game. Which
we did. In the rain.
Our marriage is far from perfect; it is rife with things we knew better than to say
or do. We are an only child and a youngest child, selfish and stubborn,
undeniably me-oriented. We cannot help ourselves. But the inevitable challenges
have somehow, miraculously, forced us further and deeper into this union. And I
suppose that is what we hope for: losing seasons that become our proudest
accomplishments. The foxholes we escape, by tooth and nail, bloody and beat. To be
able to say: we survived. To weather this ever-changing climate, to grow and
grow together. Separate but entangled in a present tense.
8 years later, I've grown some hooks. I’m starting to
understand a little bit better about patience and service. I choose to be
grateful today for this person whose nature is to see it through. I choose
today to believe that while our direction may be altered by little decisions,
our path is kept good and real by the disposition with which we accept failure,
celebrate success, and enjoy waking up each day to this home and these
children, this life; its many meaningful moments, often borne of distress and
grief, that we have carved into something beautiful beyond words.
There is little that can truly, realistically prepare you for marriage. But a rainy football game might give you a hint.
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