Six Things in Six Years
Get on an airplane, change your whole life.
On October 1, 2008, at 11:30 pm, I boarded a plane to fly across the country… and I was completely terrified.
Not of flying.
Of failing.
There was a man waiting for me in Boston who I’d been talking to for months now — months in which we’d grown impossibly close, and fallen into what seemed like love.
Would it all change when I got off the plane?
Would it live up to what we hoped for? Could he love me for me, with all my flaws and mistakes and shortcomings and habits and hurdles? Should I feel as nervous as I do?
Six years later, I can confirm with the rings on my left hand and the flowers on my desk at work and the gravity of 2,191 days of calling him “mine” that the answers are yes, yes, and… yes, because it was a big leap to make.
I’ve learned a few things about him since then:
He falls asleep so quickly that you’d label him as narcoleptic if he wasn’t tucked into bed.
He is not joking about not liking mushrooms.
He is happiest when he is active.
He is a fantastic driver.
He is so proud of his kids that he’s almost giddy at times.
He does not mind running errands on the way home if I’ve forgotten something.
He is probably fine with that because he often forgets things himself.
He has no shortage of passion for the things he enjoys, whether he’s rhapsodizing about music, history, cars, golf, or mac n’ cheese.
He wants a lot out of life, and he’ll work to get it.
He’s also learned a few things about me:
I love a good road trip.
I am a little too articulate when I’m mad.
I have some radical polarities in my taste in television and music.
I get emotional when I see things that are cute.
If I swear when I hurt myself, I’m not really that hurt. If I don’t, I probably am.
I am at my most sane in a kitchen, and my least sane around wasps. And mice. And spiders.
I’m not much of a sleeper, but an exceptional sleeper-inner.
I love “spoiling” him, though he’s never started to smell funny.
I like a cool house. As in: cold. As in: wear your slippers.
Beyond what we’ve learned about one another as people, we’ve also learned a few things about what it means to be partners. Partners in an inevitably real and flawed relationship. Partners in a long series of choices and decisions and plans. Partners in a promise that neither of us intends to break.
I’ve learned a lot more than six things, but here are the six at the top of my heart today, six years after I first spotted him at the bottom of an escalator and thought, “Oh, he’s so handsome. I am totally going to trip and fall on my face.”
- Spending time together doesn’t need to be a big production. Run errands. Grab coffee. Go for a walk before bed. Watch a movie on Saturday morning in your PJs. Date nights are wonderful and needed — but smaller, unplanned moments of together make a difference, too.
- You can build up your immunity to hurt. I believe that, the more loving words we speak to one another, the better we get at fighting off the less loving words — the stuff that would otherwise leave scars. We believe most what we hear most, and while it takes effort to speak love on a daily basis, it enables us to take on the tougher stuff and survive.
- Taking yourself too seriously can become a serious problem. You don’t need to become a joke, or to sell yourself and your value short. But if you can recognize your quirks and oddities as, well… quirky and odd… you’ll have a clearer sense of when to defend them, and when to set them aside for the sake of your relationship and your happiness.
- We are the sum of how we grew up… and also not. Understanding your partner’s background can make you more sensitive and forgiving — but on the flip side, it can also lead to some snap judgments about the “whys” behind their character and actions. “You’re just like your mother.” “You just think that because of your family.” “I can’t believe you were raised to do that.” You married the person you married with all the baggage that entails — but you don’t need to dig through it with NSA-level zeal. Recognize the influence and the habits learned, but treat their choices as their own responsibility (for better or for worse).
- Laughing together = glue. I think every couple needs an arsenal of things that make them both laugh. Shared jokes. Private jokes. In-jokes. Favorite movies or TV shows or books, or even YouTube videos… whatever it takes to give you the hiccups because you can’t stop giggling. Even if you don’t have the same sense of humor, and you don’t find all the same things funny, find something. And be willing to laugh at yourself.
- And finally, I don’t really know anything about relationships — except my own. An overstatement, perhaps. It’s not that I haven’t gained any wisdom from watching and listening to others over time, it’s just that what works for us is what works for us. Some of the best advice I ever got regarding my marriage went something like this: “Learn from all the people around you that seem happy… but don’t feel like you have to be like them to be happy.” When you take that freedom to heart, you lose a lot of the pressure to be on a particular schedule, to live a certain way, or to relate to one another in a particular way. And less pressure = good.
I didn’t have much of a clue how things would really go when I flew to meet Gradon. I had all the insecurities I could possibly fit in my rolling suitcase, and some bad habits left over from things that didn’t go according to plan.
One of the first moves Gradon made at the bottom of that escalator was to take my bag from my tired arms. Then he took my freed-up hand, and just like that, we were on our way. Life didn’t immediately become perfect — not by a long shot — but the focus on the lens sharpened quickly.
The joy I’ve received and the things I’ve learned since then have taken over that metaphorical suitcase and much more—which may be another lesson in the making: you can only carry so much through life.
So take only what you love. Really. Drop the rest.
And don’t be afraid to share it when the right hand comes along.
