love story

17 years ago this day, I married my first husband. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into. It was a cold, snowy day filled with love, laughter, music and booze. The path that has taken us to our anniversary today has had some unexpected turns, a crash here and there, and a lot of uphill pedaling. I remember reading that people cycle through change every 6-7 years, which inevitably means relationships will change. Around year 13 or 14 in our marriage, we became two forty-three year old toddlers throwing a tantrum at each other, in a Canadian airport during the wee hours of the morning. Passports were thrown, bitter words exchanged, and lines had been drawn. (Literally, lines were drawn and the children had to pick a side for the long day ahead). 15 hours later, we had made it home alive, all with the “adults” not uttering one single word to each other. After a full nights rest and a cooling down period, he and I did not have a conversation without tears for the next 72 hours.

When we first became a couple, people often wondered, out loud, how the two of us ended up together. He is particular, orderly, quiet, punctual, observant, critical, and wears his heart on his sleeve. I am aloof, disorganized, messy, loud, late, casual, and keep my heart guarded. If we were British characters I’d be Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones and her diary, while he’d be Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy, from Pride and Prejudice. People acknowledged aloud the various (and obvious) reasons why he could love me, and were baffled as to how and why I could love him. As time and life progressed, I began to believe this narrative. This storyline became a truth and eventually I believed I could do no wrong. If there were marital issues, it was his fault because he was too uptight. At the time of our international scandal, I was several years into my mindfulness practice. Mindfulness is an internal and external present moment awareness, met with kindness and curiosity instead of judgement. When I began examining the judgement I was first directing at myself, I was then able to notice how it carried over into the ways, and the people I was constantly judging. Especially my husband. During these rocky 72 hours in our marriage I shared this new discovery of judgment with him. It’s what he needed to hear, and what I needed to say. A spark was lit between us. One that created room for personal, and relational growth.

We survived that bump, and the countless others in the life that we’ve built together. It’s humbling to walk next to the same human being day in and day out. We drive each other crazy with our rituals, routines, and habits – normal marriage stuff that we wade through. Our life is not even close to perfect. You may find one of us flashing the finger at the other, usually behind a wall or closed door, or murmured swears sprinkled within the noises in our home. He and I are still learning to see all of ourselves, even the parts that are not so pretty. We try our best not fault each other, but shine a light on them when they need to be addressed. We’ve grown in countless ways. He has taught me to talk, while I’ve taught him to listen. He’s given me space, while I’ve given him reliability. We try to approach our struggles with more curiosity than judgement, knowing this path will serve us both better.

Love, when the layers are peeled back, can be fairly simple. What if he chose me, knowing in doing so his heart would open? What if I chose him knowing he’d give me both the space, and the safety for me become who I am? And maybe this is enough. Our messy and entangled love story is ours alone to tell. We know it is far from over, and are curious where the road ahead will lead (okay, me WAY MORE than him).

“Even after all this time the sun never says to the earth, “You owe Me.”

Look what happens with a love like that,

It lights the Whole Sky.” –Hafiz.