Surprised by happiness and intimacy, 30 years in today, I tip the hat to—besides the fact that Deb has a treasury of relational skills (I own a couple tools)—frequent walks, holding hands, inside jokes, good-night kisses, being thankful and using actual words, love notes, laughing together (and at ourselves), stolen touches in crowded rooms, self-effacement while beating me at Rummikub, Sudoku, Scrabble, French toast on Saturday mornings with lots of fruit, Sunday excursions, settling on Netflix series’, back-rubs, hugs for no reason, caring friends, kids that like us, counselling when needed, meaningful apologies, repeated forgiveness, daily check-ins, dancing in the kitchen, sex, regular dates, listening without judging, tending without fixing, caring without crowding, venting without resenting, fighting well, sex (did I mention this?), good-morning kisses, all of which, in spite of the failures, has kept alive that rush of discovery that we’re-better-people-when-together-than-apart.
Surprising, after all these years, that a few lucky happenstances and a batch of little habits, including the habit of spontaneity, pumps in oxygen enough for two incongruous and independent souls to breath deep, which, curiously enough, sustains the mystery of intimacy and the sweet attendant knowing that we still don’t know all there is to know about each other.
So it happens in the course of long love, for we are hardly unique, that against the odds, people become, both: one, and uniquely their own persons.
Happily, while our “after picture” has not yet been taken—which may reveal far more of a benevolent guiding hand than anticipated—this “before picture” readily shows, in that over-bloom of celebration, the giddy naivety and blissed-out astonishment of having found something more than meaning, or purpose, without a clue of what that something might be, or all that will happen, perhaps has to happen, for its full revelation. That, and when I look at it I fall in love again. (Happy 30th Anniversary Deb!)