There are some things that defy the "if you just work hard enough, you can have whatever you put your mind to" ideology. Family is one of them. Family reminds us that there are some things we just cannot control, despite the cultural illusion that we are all masters of our own fate--other people, the weather, our genes, and actually, life. And that might be a good thing.
I grew up in a very small family, and the family that I did have around was not at all tightly knit. Like many young kids who fixate on what they don't have, I always dreamed of that warm, sprawling extended family that got together a lot, shared laughs, were there for you when you needed them. The kind that was always around, that came over on a summer evening and did cartwheels in the street with you. The big Italian family I always thought that I should have. It wasn't to be--there was no one even remotely my age in my family. The family I did have (on my mom's side) fought all the time. Most of the time, they were negative, critical, and dysfunctional. I should not make it sound like they had no redeeming qualities. They were generous in their way, and they were absolutely unpretentious. Not an ounce of snob in their bodies. My dad's side of the family was also very small, and scattered around the globe. I can count on my hands the number of times I have even talked to them, let alone have seen them.
My mom tried to make me understand that this was, in fact, a blessing. Family, she told me, came with a lot of obligations. "Being there" could be a very difficult thing--it could lead to dependence, a drain on one's emotional and financial resources. The way she saw it, I was cut free from the tethers and demands of family.
You would think that my parents would try to compensate for the lack of supportive family relationships in other ways, but they didn't. Both being introverted, they had very few friends. They were not joiners. They were not church-goers. I was the oldest of 2, so I didn't even have an older sibling's friends as a start-up network to draw upon.
I recall seeing this not as being liberating, but rather lonely. I had some friends who had large families, and I was pretty jealous. One was particularly inclusive, and they were a bit like a surrogate sprawling family, but at the end of the day, I was still always the one who felt like I was on the outside, my face pressed against a glass windowpane, not quite feeling the warmth of the fireplace crackling inside. My home life growing up was not always happy. Weekends were largely spent listening to my parents fight endlessly, with the house being torn apart and destroyed in the process, my brother and I largely pushed aside and told to go to our rooms and be quiet (or else--hitting and beating was quite common). It wasn't until I left home for college that I started to learn this wasn't normal behavior. That not everyone acted like this, and indeed, that it wasn't acceptable to do so. It wasn't until I started dating good men, the best of whom became my husband, that I realized how drama-free and wonderful a home life could be, and experienced a love relationship without constant turmoil and tension.
2 weekends ago, when my brother and his wife showed up pretty much out of the blue, having driven across the country, I was excited. I took my son to my parents' house to see them, but once again, it was not to be. The entire weekend had devolved into a disastrous fight between my brother and my parents, and I walked into a house filled with screaming.
Ever since, I have been going through my own mourning period. The knowledge dawned on me that my son will grow up the exact same way I did--with no close family. 1 set of grandparents, a couple cousins on his father's side who live far away. That's it.
But wait. There is something redeeming about all of this. For not having ready-made supportive relationships has caused me, throughout my life, to look very hard for them in other places. It has not been easy, because I was not raised with either the tools nor the resources (having a safe home for other children to visit, for instance) to make friends. I was not made with a gregarious personality, so it is a pure miracle that God has brought wonderful people over the years to me. A friend of mine happened to mention the other day the circumstances of an acquaintance who has just the type of supportive, extended family of my dreams...yet her relationships with men have been one abusive disaster after another, and she has few if any friends to speak of. Maybe not having a ready-made kin network has allowed me to fill the need for a network of people in other ways. No, I do not have anything like "a sister" in my life, and I do not consider my friends "my family," but I do know a lot of wonderful people. I have good female (and male) friends, and been absolutely blessed in having positive romantic relationships, and never having falling into destructive or abusive ones. I have a husband who is the opposite of my parents--steady, uncritical, accepting, non-judgmental, supportive.
And although Himal will grow up without the benefit of a large, loving extended family, I've come to see families as wildcards anyway. There's no guarantee that even if we were to have 6 more kids (impossible), they would be close or there for each other. But, what I CAN do is make sure he has the tools to meet an interesting variety of people. I can give him the secure and stable home environment that will make it safe for him to have friends over. And, I can protect him from the screaming and chaos that I grew up with--although I can't give him the size of family I've always wanted, I can give him the kind of homelife I think he deserves.
I have learned.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Ke cha? Life lagyo.
Well. Then. Can we say "emotional whiplash?!" No, no one's fault. It's just that life lagyo.
Before I begin, I hesitate to write another post mentioning yoga. While I doubt anyone wants to read posts on my struggles to mentally extricate capitalism from feminism, the idea of a yoga blog seems even more self-indulgent. Oh, well.
Ok, my new yoga teacher is insane! She had us attempting to do the splits in class! Downward dog is my least favorite pose. I'd rather do camel pose any day. Yet, we must do downward dog at least 20x/session. And, I like yoga for its pensive movement and deep breathing through the exercises...this instructor has us wildly switching into pose after pose before I complete a breath cycle! She barks things like "engage those abs!" and I think, "engage those abs?! What is this, pilates?!" It's like suburban chic yoga instead of the granola I know and love. Help. She is a good teacher (albeit a rather gruff New Yorker who teaches like a drill sergeant), and it's really challenging me, but it's not the holistic spirit I'm looking for. Unfortunately, I can't go back to the Thurs night class until Esposo's schedule switches back in a few weeks so that he has off Thurs nights, so I'm stuck getting up super early and trudging in below-freezing weather and ice to this one instead. It is, however, somewhat balanced by the other class I'm in: meditative exercise, which is right up my alley--though an inter-disciplinary class, not yoga proper.
Things rather spiralled out of control recently, and I didn't even realize how it had affected me until last night. I'd been sticking to my new resolve of a few posts ago--taking better care of myself, making some progress on outstanding issues that needed attention (yes, I had that dental apt--tooth luckily doesn't need fixing after all!--and had that eye exam, and that dr's apt). In fact, I'd made so much progress that I thought maybe I'd been tethering my focus and mind on too short of a leash. I released it to go off and play where it would, but instead of playing, it was like a destructive puppy that chewed up a piece of furniture.
"Life lagyo" is an expression we developed in Nepal--"lagyo" meaning approximately "touched" or "felt." But really it means "got to me." You can say "khusi lagyo" which means "I feel happiness," but it literally means "happiness touched me." You can say "disa lagyo," meaning a stomach bug touched you--ie, got to you. One day in Kathmandu, I developed a crushing headache and our program director asked me "Nepal lagyo [has Nepal gotten to you]?" I immediately burst out laughing at that, and ever since, sometimes I and my friends from Nepal talk about "life lagyo." I've always thought stress begets more stress, thus we should all avoid it as much as possible. Yet, it's not always possible to avoid it, especially when a lot of it gangs up on us as once and tries to upset our daily balance. Minor circumstances--an anonymous person slamming into your sideview car mirror and running off, losing part of this blog post when the web signal disappeared for no apparent reason, a comment on facebook setting you off--that's when you know life lagyo.
You see, for a long time now, I've been feeling like I'm not entitled to any problems/issues other than Himal's HLHS. I don't know why I feel this way--a perception, I suppose. Either due to internal or external vibes, I feel like I don't want to detract from it, or maybe that everyone has their issues and we're all sort of entitled to a very finite amount of empathy/support...I don't know. I don't hold others to that standard, though--so why do I hold myself to it? I've always been hesitant to reach out for support, even when I know there are those out there who are willing to give it. I either don't reach out at all, or I reach out to the wrong people. There are people in my life, many of them, who think I have nothing to complain about other than the HLHS--that I live a kind of pollyanna-ish existence. but this is only because I have tried so hard--so hard!--to overcome my upbringing, to avoid drama and stress, to carve out a calm family life for myself with a wonderful man, to stick to my values, to pursue that which really matters...and sometimes this makes me rather insular. Despite my sometimes aloof attitude, though, I've been blessed in my life with many good people to inspire me.
And most of the time, I don't need a lot of support--save for the area of Himal's heart condition. But in the past week, I have, though no one would really know it other than a select few, and instead of talking about it, I let other, very minor things get to me that shouldn't. I'm a firm believer that many, if not most, people don't need someone to listen to them, or someone to help them work through their issues, or someone to give them advice--they just simply need empathy. I confessed to a friend that I'd gone overboard not once, but two times, on facebook; whether I was right or wrong, I'm not completely sure (one time involving getting very turned off by ignorant "impeach Obama" b.s., the other time taking a comment personally that maybe wasn't personal, but given the person's history, I think it was)--but either way I shouldn't have gone overboard. The friend expressed nothing but empathy. And I was so grateful--it was all I needed. It's when I realized that I wasn't dealing with the stress of the past weekend very well--thus today's yoga class and this blog post are attempts. Why write this instead of talk it over with others? I don't know. It's my way of cooling down, maybe. Maybe I feel that in this age, where people expect to have "real" relationships with people through a series of impersonal status updates and comments, we don't want to be bothered with anything more personal. Maybe I feel like I'm not entitled to stress when those around me seem to be dealing with so much more--although there are times when I feel it's because I try not to act theatrical about the stress of life whereas some around me live constantly at that fever pitch of drama.
Now that the dust has settled from pregnancy/birth/2 open heart surgeries/so on, there is *so much* Esposo and I need to catch up--from talking about finances to a freakin' parenting philosophy to just settling into family and married life without crisis hanging over our heads. We've done so much organizing and strategizing since returning from FL, it's amazing. However, it wasn't easy. There was a lot to talk about, a lot to sift through. Combine this with Esposo's work schedule changing yet again, and my momentum was totally thrown off. I forgot to give Himal his medications 2x because I was so distracted with other things.
Combine this with a disaster of an extended family get-together over the weekend--the ensuing fights and upheaval that I was naive enough to believe might be avoided--the drama has left me feeling toxic ever since, and it got to me more than I realized. Combine this with some late winter cabin fever and blahs, and Himal's current "terrible 2's"/tantrum stage, and I was starting to feel like there was no escaping the screaming.
I'm dealing with internal turmoil over my own health problem--"at least it won't kill you but there's no cure and we're sorry this medication almost killed you by giving you an irregular heartbeat and resting rate of 140 bpm...." the impatience and anger I have over it, the fact that I'm not supposed to drink coffee anymore but life has no meaning to me without at least 1 cup, and therefore they will apparently have to pry that one cup out of my cold, dead hands, the fact that I don't want to deal with it, don't want to think about what happens when you have a kid with a serious medical problem and the parent has their own medical issue management to worry about. I'm dealing with worry about how and when Himal is going to find out he has HLHS--it was fine to talk about it freely in front of him, when he was a baby, but now he's getting to be an age where he will come to conclusions based on half-overheard conversations...wondering how his next surgery might interfere with pre-school plans...the knowledge that I don't want to think about it, the pressure to plan for your child in the face of uncertainty, the pressure from pediatrician and therapist to get him to say words, the pressure from cardiology and nutritionist to get him to eat more...seems never-ending when all I really want to do is let him be.
This morning, I felt exhausted from all of this. The cat woke me up an hour early, and I laid in bed, stewing with annoyance until Esposo prodded me about trucking off to the early yoga class. I reminded myself that although I felt like staying in bed for an extra hour instead, the kinder thing to do would be to go and nurture my body and soul instead of moping, so off I went. After class, I decided that it was kinder to get on that treadmill and burn some steam than let myself off easy and throw in my gym towel for the day.
And--and...I am starting to feel better. I am a happy person, despite not feeling like one for the past several days. It's ok. I had a lapse. I need to re-focus once again, need to be kind to myself and take care of myself, and stick to my new resolve.
There. I'm doing what my old yoga teacher in Madison always said, one of the best pieces of advice I've ever heard: treat your emotions like guests. Invite them in and sit down for a cup of tea with them. Then send them on their way.
Instead, I'd been letting them pound incessantly on the door for several days.
Aside: someone should get "the memo" (yes, said in all its Office Space/Mr Smith to Mr Anderson Matrix drawl) out to that subset of men out there who self-congratulate themselves for being feminists of convenience. And by that I mean--the men who like the women around them to be strong so that these women can prop him up, and then as soon as it is convenient for him, he doesn't hesitate to degrade his female friends, coworkers, or women in general whenever it serves his ego or ambitions to do so. You are chauvinists, despite believing you're not. Wait--I did just get the memo out, didn't I? Now the q: do I need to express more empathy for the faminists of convenience?
Before I begin, I hesitate to write another post mentioning yoga. While I doubt anyone wants to read posts on my struggles to mentally extricate capitalism from feminism, the idea of a yoga blog seems even more self-indulgent. Oh, well.
Ok, my new yoga teacher is insane! She had us attempting to do the splits in class! Downward dog is my least favorite pose. I'd rather do camel pose any day. Yet, we must do downward dog at least 20x/session. And, I like yoga for its pensive movement and deep breathing through the exercises...this instructor has us wildly switching into pose after pose before I complete a breath cycle! She barks things like "engage those abs!" and I think, "engage those abs?! What is this, pilates?!" It's like suburban chic yoga instead of the granola I know and love. Help. She is a good teacher (albeit a rather gruff New Yorker who teaches like a drill sergeant), and it's really challenging me, but it's not the holistic spirit I'm looking for. Unfortunately, I can't go back to the Thurs night class until Esposo's schedule switches back in a few weeks so that he has off Thurs nights, so I'm stuck getting up super early and trudging in below-freezing weather and ice to this one instead. It is, however, somewhat balanced by the other class I'm in: meditative exercise, which is right up my alley--though an inter-disciplinary class, not yoga proper.
Things rather spiralled out of control recently, and I didn't even realize how it had affected me until last night. I'd been sticking to my new resolve of a few posts ago--taking better care of myself, making some progress on outstanding issues that needed attention (yes, I had that dental apt--tooth luckily doesn't need fixing after all!--and had that eye exam, and that dr's apt). In fact, I'd made so much progress that I thought maybe I'd been tethering my focus and mind on too short of a leash. I released it to go off and play where it would, but instead of playing, it was like a destructive puppy that chewed up a piece of furniture.
"Life lagyo" is an expression we developed in Nepal--"lagyo" meaning approximately "touched" or "felt." But really it means "got to me." You can say "khusi lagyo" which means "I feel happiness," but it literally means "happiness touched me." You can say "disa lagyo," meaning a stomach bug touched you--ie, got to you. One day in Kathmandu, I developed a crushing headache and our program director asked me "Nepal lagyo [has Nepal gotten to you]?" I immediately burst out laughing at that, and ever since, sometimes I and my friends from Nepal talk about "life lagyo." I've always thought stress begets more stress, thus we should all avoid it as much as possible. Yet, it's not always possible to avoid it, especially when a lot of it gangs up on us as once and tries to upset our daily balance. Minor circumstances--an anonymous person slamming into your sideview car mirror and running off, losing part of this blog post when the web signal disappeared for no apparent reason, a comment on facebook setting you off--that's when you know life lagyo.
You see, for a long time now, I've been feeling like I'm not entitled to any problems/issues other than Himal's HLHS. I don't know why I feel this way--a perception, I suppose. Either due to internal or external vibes, I feel like I don't want to detract from it, or maybe that everyone has their issues and we're all sort of entitled to a very finite amount of empathy/support...I don't know. I don't hold others to that standard, though--so why do I hold myself to it? I've always been hesitant to reach out for support, even when I know there are those out there who are willing to give it. I either don't reach out at all, or I reach out to the wrong people. There are people in my life, many of them, who think I have nothing to complain about other than the HLHS--that I live a kind of pollyanna-ish existence. but this is only because I have tried so hard--so hard!--to overcome my upbringing, to avoid drama and stress, to carve out a calm family life for myself with a wonderful man, to stick to my values, to pursue that which really matters...and sometimes this makes me rather insular. Despite my sometimes aloof attitude, though, I've been blessed in my life with many good people to inspire me.
And most of the time, I don't need a lot of support--save for the area of Himal's heart condition. But in the past week, I have, though no one would really know it other than a select few, and instead of talking about it, I let other, very minor things get to me that shouldn't. I'm a firm believer that many, if not most, people don't need someone to listen to them, or someone to help them work through their issues, or someone to give them advice--they just simply need empathy. I confessed to a friend that I'd gone overboard not once, but two times, on facebook; whether I was right or wrong, I'm not completely sure (one time involving getting very turned off by ignorant "impeach Obama" b.s., the other time taking a comment personally that maybe wasn't personal, but given the person's history, I think it was)--but either way I shouldn't have gone overboard. The friend expressed nothing but empathy. And I was so grateful--it was all I needed. It's when I realized that I wasn't dealing with the stress of the past weekend very well--thus today's yoga class and this blog post are attempts. Why write this instead of talk it over with others? I don't know. It's my way of cooling down, maybe. Maybe I feel that in this age, where people expect to have "real" relationships with people through a series of impersonal status updates and comments, we don't want to be bothered with anything more personal. Maybe I feel like I'm not entitled to stress when those around me seem to be dealing with so much more--although there are times when I feel it's because I try not to act theatrical about the stress of life whereas some around me live constantly at that fever pitch of drama.
Now that the dust has settled from pregnancy/birth/2 open heart surgeries/so on, there is *so much* Esposo and I need to catch up--from talking about finances to a freakin' parenting philosophy to just settling into family and married life without crisis hanging over our heads. We've done so much organizing and strategizing since returning from FL, it's amazing. However, it wasn't easy. There was a lot to talk about, a lot to sift through. Combine this with Esposo's work schedule changing yet again, and my momentum was totally thrown off. I forgot to give Himal his medications 2x because I was so distracted with other things.
Combine this with a disaster of an extended family get-together over the weekend--the ensuing fights and upheaval that I was naive enough to believe might be avoided--the drama has left me feeling toxic ever since, and it got to me more than I realized. Combine this with some late winter cabin fever and blahs, and Himal's current "terrible 2's"/tantrum stage, and I was starting to feel like there was no escaping the screaming.
I'm dealing with internal turmoil over my own health problem--"at least it won't kill you but there's no cure and we're sorry this medication almost killed you by giving you an irregular heartbeat and resting rate of 140 bpm...." the impatience and anger I have over it, the fact that I'm not supposed to drink coffee anymore but life has no meaning to me without at least 1 cup, and therefore they will apparently have to pry that one cup out of my cold, dead hands, the fact that I don't want to deal with it, don't want to think about what happens when you have a kid with a serious medical problem and the parent has their own medical issue management to worry about. I'm dealing with worry about how and when Himal is going to find out he has HLHS--it was fine to talk about it freely in front of him, when he was a baby, but now he's getting to be an age where he will come to conclusions based on half-overheard conversations...wondering how his next surgery might interfere with pre-school plans...the knowledge that I don't want to think about it, the pressure to plan for your child in the face of uncertainty, the pressure from pediatrician and therapist to get him to say words, the pressure from cardiology and nutritionist to get him to eat more...seems never-ending when all I really want to do is let him be.
This morning, I felt exhausted from all of this. The cat woke me up an hour early, and I laid in bed, stewing with annoyance until Esposo prodded me about trucking off to the early yoga class. I reminded myself that although I felt like staying in bed for an extra hour instead, the kinder thing to do would be to go and nurture my body and soul instead of moping, so off I went. After class, I decided that it was kinder to get on that treadmill and burn some steam than let myself off easy and throw in my gym towel for the day.
And--and...I am starting to feel better. I am a happy person, despite not feeling like one for the past several days. It's ok. I had a lapse. I need to re-focus once again, need to be kind to myself and take care of myself, and stick to my new resolve.
There. I'm doing what my old yoga teacher in Madison always said, one of the best pieces of advice I've ever heard: treat your emotions like guests. Invite them in and sit down for a cup of tea with them. Then send them on their way.
Instead, I'd been letting them pound incessantly on the door for several days.
Aside: someone should get "the memo" (yes, said in all its Office Space/Mr Smith to Mr Anderson Matrix drawl) out to that subset of men out there who self-congratulate themselves for being feminists of convenience. And by that I mean--the men who like the women around them to be strong so that these women can prop him up, and then as soon as it is convenient for him, he doesn't hesitate to degrade his female friends, coworkers, or women in general whenever it serves his ego or ambitions to do so. You are chauvinists, despite believing you're not. Wait--I did just get the memo out, didn't I? Now the q: do I need to express more empathy for the faminists of convenience?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
The Table of Feasts: In honor of Valentine's Day
For those who have been on a cruise before, you probably remember being assigned to a particular time and table for dinner. You may have wondered (depending on your personality) whether you had been one of the lucky couples to get a table for two, or whether you’d have to put your chummy face on and eat at the same table as 2-8 other strangers. We’ve taken 2 cruises (1 to Alaska, 1 to the Caribbean), and on both, the lavish dinners lost their appeal after a night or 2, and we soon preferred to nab dinner from the sushi carts or the pizza buffets on board. However, it’s hard to pass up the curiosity of seeing who your dining mates might be, or the notion of a meal with 4 actual courses. Lobster risotto? Crème brulee? Although the idea of it usually ends of being more elegant than the actual mass-meal that’s dished out by the hundreds, it just seems like something one has to do once or twice on board.
A week before Esposo and I were going to run off and take our marriage vows at an as-yet-to-be-determined time and places in Las Vegas, we took a short-notice cruise to Grand Turk and the Bahamas. I guess you could call it a honeymoon, though I prefer to think of it as a pre-moon. The first night we were getting our bearings, but we did find out that we were assigned to a dinner table with 3 other couples. It went by in a blur of very small talk and distraction, but by the second night, we had a better idea of the arrangement.
The first couple was from Georgia—the type that drives everyone who isn’t like them right up the wall. Bragging about their 100 acres of land, rabidly conservative, fake-baked, the wife dripping with gold and diamonds. They, predictably, immediately chose the best spot of the table for themselves—the window seats. The 2nd couple stayed well away from the 1st, and being savvy about these things, quickly sat at the places furthest away from them—the 2 aisle seats. Esposo and I sat down next to them, with 2 empty seats spacing us from the GA couple. Finally, the 4th couple arrived—late, carefree, laughing—and sat down with only a barely-perceptible moment’s hesitation in the two remaining spots.
The GA couple did not act intimate with each other at all. Instead, they were entirely concerned with trying to engage the rest of us with fake smiles, and garner adoration with their tales of other cruises, their land, their SUV, their golf, their well-oiled view of the world. I couldn’t help but inwardly chuckle at how easy it is to be a big fish in a small pond, and I whispered about the wife’s over-the-top ring to Esposo. After Esposo glanced at it, she hid it under the table for the rest of the meal.
The 2nd couple was from Kansas City, had married late in life, and had no children. Insular and shy, they were quiet and mild-mannered. I liked them immediately, and found the husband particularly entertaining, as he regaled Esposo and me with tales of his former travels. Although his wife had certainly heard the tales before, she listened with rapt attention and unquestioning worship in her eyes. When we told them that we were about to get married, they shared their own story of their courthouse marriage with us. Apparently, after they took their vows, a young county clerk had run up to them, shaken their hands, and exclaimed, “I think it’s great that people of your age can still find love and get married!” The wife was all of in her late-30’s, the husband about 50. The husband joked, “My goodness kid, what do you mean? Do you think it’s all over at age 22 if you haven’t found someone yet?!” These two odd characters had found a refuge in the other, and obviously preferred to stay in it as much as possible.
The remaining couple was somewhere in the middle—literally and figuratively—of the obnoxious ostentation of the 1st and the shrinking exclusiveness of the 2nd. They were originally from Mexico, lived in LA now and had a whopping 4 daughters at home for the week alone, all of whom were teenagers. Although they had a few stray grays in their hair, their demeanor was youthful and refreshingly laidback. I suppose having 4 daughters would have to mellow a person, as a sheer coping/survival mechanism. The husband did not speak perfect English, and had a wrinkled, suntanned face that was aged beyond his years, with teeth that were charmingly imperfect and brown, but he was quick to give radiant smiles and laughs. The wife was gregarious and well-poised to keep the GA couple occupied while the rest of chatted in peace. Whereas the 1st couple seemed mistrusting and paranoid and the 2nd couple reserved, this 3rd couple seemed generous and self-assured with each other and others.
The entire dinner remains a fascination in my mind. I tend to get so engrossed in observing others that I always forget to wonder how others might be observing me in turn. Yet, here Esposo and I were—two people who had not planned on getting married, to each other or anyone else, who had only in the past several months had a major change of heart about marriage and decided to make the commitment, take the plunge (and we’re glad we did)—amongst 3 other couples much more experienced at marriage, all of whom couldn’t have been more different from each other. I couldn’t help but wonder which couple our love and relationship might resemble down the road. Now, just a bit over 2 years later, I think about how our relationship has transformed since then, so that we probably will never be like any of them. Yet, I think of each relationship as an option on that "set menu" the ship's chefs put together each night, a possible choice set before us within the confines of the purely circumstantial.
Like the cruise menus, love and marriages have many courses. If we remain lingering too long over one course, our relationship might starve, so we must always make room for change. Sometimes there is choice as to what we might order. Other times, the menu is a set of options, none of which might be appealing to us.
Sometimes, you can hit the sushi cart or pizza buffet, and refuse to keep sitting at the more conventional table that’s been assigned to you, where the dishes are served by the hundreds.
If this is totally corny…I’ve succeeded in writing a good Valentine’s Day note :)
A week before Esposo and I were going to run off and take our marriage vows at an as-yet-to-be-determined time and places in Las Vegas, we took a short-notice cruise to Grand Turk and the Bahamas. I guess you could call it a honeymoon, though I prefer to think of it as a pre-moon. The first night we were getting our bearings, but we did find out that we were assigned to a dinner table with 3 other couples. It went by in a blur of very small talk and distraction, but by the second night, we had a better idea of the arrangement.
The first couple was from Georgia—the type that drives everyone who isn’t like them right up the wall. Bragging about their 100 acres of land, rabidly conservative, fake-baked, the wife dripping with gold and diamonds. They, predictably, immediately chose the best spot of the table for themselves—the window seats. The 2nd couple stayed well away from the 1st, and being savvy about these things, quickly sat at the places furthest away from them—the 2 aisle seats. Esposo and I sat down next to them, with 2 empty seats spacing us from the GA couple. Finally, the 4th couple arrived—late, carefree, laughing—and sat down with only a barely-perceptible moment’s hesitation in the two remaining spots.
The GA couple did not act intimate with each other at all. Instead, they were entirely concerned with trying to engage the rest of us with fake smiles, and garner adoration with their tales of other cruises, their land, their SUV, their golf, their well-oiled view of the world. I couldn’t help but inwardly chuckle at how easy it is to be a big fish in a small pond, and I whispered about the wife’s over-the-top ring to Esposo. After Esposo glanced at it, she hid it under the table for the rest of the meal.
The 2nd couple was from Kansas City, had married late in life, and had no children. Insular and shy, they were quiet and mild-mannered. I liked them immediately, and found the husband particularly entertaining, as he regaled Esposo and me with tales of his former travels. Although his wife had certainly heard the tales before, she listened with rapt attention and unquestioning worship in her eyes. When we told them that we were about to get married, they shared their own story of their courthouse marriage with us. Apparently, after they took their vows, a young county clerk had run up to them, shaken their hands, and exclaimed, “I think it’s great that people of your age can still find love and get married!” The wife was all of in her late-30’s, the husband about 50. The husband joked, “My goodness kid, what do you mean? Do you think it’s all over at age 22 if you haven’t found someone yet?!” These two odd characters had found a refuge in the other, and obviously preferred to stay in it as much as possible.
The remaining couple was somewhere in the middle—literally and figuratively—of the obnoxious ostentation of the 1st and the shrinking exclusiveness of the 2nd. They were originally from Mexico, lived in LA now and had a whopping 4 daughters at home for the week alone, all of whom were teenagers. Although they had a few stray grays in their hair, their demeanor was youthful and refreshingly laidback. I suppose having 4 daughters would have to mellow a person, as a sheer coping/survival mechanism. The husband did not speak perfect English, and had a wrinkled, suntanned face that was aged beyond his years, with teeth that were charmingly imperfect and brown, but he was quick to give radiant smiles and laughs. The wife was gregarious and well-poised to keep the GA couple occupied while the rest of chatted in peace. Whereas the 1st couple seemed mistrusting and paranoid and the 2nd couple reserved, this 3rd couple seemed generous and self-assured with each other and others.
The entire dinner remains a fascination in my mind. I tend to get so engrossed in observing others that I always forget to wonder how others might be observing me in turn. Yet, here Esposo and I were—two people who had not planned on getting married, to each other or anyone else, who had only in the past several months had a major change of heart about marriage and decided to make the commitment, take the plunge (and we’re glad we did)—amongst 3 other couples much more experienced at marriage, all of whom couldn’t have been more different from each other. I couldn’t help but wonder which couple our love and relationship might resemble down the road. Now, just a bit over 2 years later, I think about how our relationship has transformed since then, so that we probably will never be like any of them. Yet, I think of each relationship as an option on that "set menu" the ship's chefs put together each night, a possible choice set before us within the confines of the purely circumstantial.
Like the cruise menus, love and marriages have many courses. If we remain lingering too long over one course, our relationship might starve, so we must always make room for change. Sometimes there is choice as to what we might order. Other times, the menu is a set of options, none of which might be appealing to us.
Sometimes, you can hit the sushi cart or pizza buffet, and refuse to keep sitting at the more conventional table that’s been assigned to you, where the dishes are served by the hundreds.
If this is totally corny…I’ve succeeded in writing a good Valentine’s Day note :)
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