It was a cold, snowy weekend and we had nothing to do but errands, newspaper-reading and eat two croissants from the French bakery on Sunday morning from one plate. A perfect weekend because we were together.
It’s very special when you find the one you want to share your life with. In our culture, we elevate such a thing to movie-status, but the reality of a lifelong relationship is one of choice – choosing to be together, choosing to start and end each day together, choosing yet again when the going gets tough or stressful or you have a fight in the middle of the night.
My husband and I are passionate people, which is very nice when we’re attracted to each other, but not so nice when we’re annoyed with each other. Two ends of the same spectrum – one is fun, one is not.
Still, we choose each other again and again. And when we have a weekend alone – or two consecutive snow days when he is home along with the rest of us – I remember why we said yes to a life together.
I just love spending time with him.
Years ago, I remember a friend telling me that about her husband, whom she’d met in college. “We just really enjoy spending time together,” she said. At that point, they’d been together for close to a decade, and I was jealous. We didn’t have that in my first marriage.
It wasn’t our fault, really. We wanted to be together. We thought we were well-suited. But when the going got tough, we got going.
So I’ve spent time alone and time with a partner and I’ve come to appreciate the choice I made this time around. Not just appreciate, have immense gratitude for.
That we can even find someone else to spend our lives with is truly remarkable. And that we keep making that choice over and over again over years and decades is profound.
Last night, the kids left to go to their dad and Dan and I went to yoga. Normally on a Tuesday at 4:30, we would both be at work, running harried, hoping to connect in the evening.
It was a surprise and a joy to have this gift of slowing-down in the yoga studio, with a heart-shield meditation at the end. Dan slumbered into nap-dreams during savasana. I was so mellow, I could see peace pulsating around me in every direction.
We went to Home Depot and bought a vanity and a toilet for our master bathroom. The windshield on my car was frozen with crystalline flowers and stems snaking up the sides.
We had dinner at our date-night mainstay, Beverly Hills Grill, cleaning our plates, reveling in slow conversation and the comfort of being with a person who knows you well and likes you still.
And then we went home and got into the warm bed and just sank against the pillows. The comfort of our home, our evening, nowhere to rush to, the warmth of the blankets, and the presence of each other – total bliss.
I really love my husband. As we prepare to move to a new house, he’s the one doing the heavy-lifting – literally and figuratively. When I freak out about some detail of this process, he’s the calming presence, the buoy in the waves. Yesterday, his fingers frozen, he shoveled the long driveway at the new house so the painter can get through.
I presented him with a bowl of homemade soup for lunch. We sat next to each other.
One definition of love is to appreciate the other person for who they are right now – not for what they give to you, not for who they might amount to one day, but for the totality of their being at this moment. I really love my husband. And I am the luckiest woman in the world.