Alone In A Room With A Woman I Love
It was time to get home. My wife said dinner was going to be ready at 8:30, and I had to start packing up if I was going to make it in time. (I hate being late to dinner because my wife works so hard every night to make it great.)
Before I stepped out the door, I turned to say goodbye to the woman I’d spent the last couple hours with. I offered words to let her know how much I enjoyed our time together, and I gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek before closing the door behind me.
I received this advice last week:
You should give no piece of your heart to another person outside your marriage. Once you start to give away pieces of your heart it can be difficult to turn back. And once a door closes and you are alone with someone with whom you’ve shared some of your heart, it’s already too late—you’ve already laid the groundwork for what will happen next.
The woman with whom I’d departed was one of my best friends. Her name is Karla and that night we’d spent a few hours in her basement adding a few new songs to our repertoire for an upcoming gig.
Karla owns her own, private space in my heart—I love her.
We spend time alone behind closed doors every time we have music practice (the band is just the two of us most of the time). And, believe it or not, we’ve never had sex. (I know, it’s shocking!)
Instead we have a loving relationship that sometimes takes the form of best friends, and other times feels like we’re siblings. We take and receive different benefits from one another. It’s a wonderful relationship that I have no intention of altering.
There are at least a half dozen other (unrelated) women with whom I share a loving relationship—they each have their own, dedicated space in my heart.
There’s also this other, super special place in my heart. It’s a large, walled off area of the beating blood drum. It’s towers are made of ancient, carved stone that have never faltered, even during times of war. Surrounding the castle-like structure is a twenty-foot-wide moat, which is home to my two crocodiles—Samuel and Maggie. Maggie is pregnant and predicts she will have a few new swimmers later this summer. No one has yet to make it across the moat alive. I can’t even recall the last time I dropped the draw bridge. The queen is as safe as humanly possible.
My queen is my wife.
She doesn’t get my whole heart—I am a social person who believes in sharing love with those around me—but she gets the biggest and most important piece of it.
I tell my wife I love her, just like I tell my friends and family (although, frankly, I don’t say it enough, and I need to change that). But it means something different when I say it to my wife. It’s bigger. It’s on a different level—a level that no one else gets to experience. There are activities, actions, feelings, and conversations that only belong between the my wife and I.
Just because I enjoy having women as friends, just because I say “I love you” to a woman who is not my wife nor a family member, just because I kiss such a woman on the cheek, just because I spend time alone with a woman behind a closed door, just … what? I’m supposed to not be able to control the urges I don’t have?
I will love who my heart tells me to love. My heart has no eyes—it doesn’t care about gender, race, or sexual orientation—it simply communicates to me what it feels.
And while the heart wants what it wants, what my heart wants more than anything is a long and happy marriage, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.
But I’m going to do it in my own way, even in the face of bullshit assumptions.
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