Isolating habits, a wandering mind, and ill-conceived ideas for gifts, are just a few things I’ve learned to own after 29 years of marriage. On this score, I was a much finer man before marrying Deb (just stunningly unaware).
Deb has been the catalyst for most of the things I wish I could say I learned on my own—which tells you more about me than I’d wish. Of course, concerning self-awareness, I think Deb would admit to some reciprocal enlightenment. (And on this front, both of us have had, and continue to have, our horizons broadened by each of our kids.)
A few years ago I overheard Deb responding to an inquiry about our relationship, from a young woman who was had just gotten married. Deb said, “…we have learned the art of fighting well.” I think this is true. And yet, after 29 years our biggest arguments are not so different from our early arguments, except that on scale, I’m happy to say, they’re foothills compared to those early Rocky Mountains. Which is a testament to how much, and how little, we’ve changed.
There were days when neither one of us wished to be married. We’ve admitted this to each other, and it was somehow important we did. At least as important is the timing of such acknowledgements.
But then, honesty—which is also about timing and context—is indeed everything it’s cracked up to be. Facing the truth of our disappointments and loss of expectations was a kind of salvation—it’s weeding the garden—and more, for it occasioned the embrace of…let’s just say…great bodily joy.
We jump in it for ourselves. Don’t we? And we stay, why? out of curiosity? out of obligation? out of fear? out of wonder? out of excitement? out of sex? out of all of these? Yes, and out of love.
There is nothing like it—love, that is. Passion, desire, excitement, those bewildering highs, those surges that elicit an exquisite kind of suffering, all these can look like love, but none are. And yet love needs them. They are, put pedantically, ambassadors, better, messengers, better yet, light-footed warriors that storm our inner castle, with its mystery, its grandeur.
Oh I remember those high-minded things we said and sang at the ceremony, grand pledges of selflessness and servant-hood, all so theoretical. So lovely (and lucky) to look back and recognize how flesh and bone and soul grew—in spite of ourselves—out all that wisp and paper.
This is not to say things can’t break down over time, or unravel shockingly quick—which is an acknowledgement that seems on the surface negative, but is, I think, an awareness that’s healthy, and rightly seen, is a recognition that has first of all to do with our own flawed selves. Call it positive humility.
Back then I thought I had a handle on love. Could wend and wield it, own the thing that was released in me. Today I sit and marvel how the grand themes of life—the grandest being love—turn on the merest of acts. How small faithful moments of attention without judgement is water and sun enough to produce a great greening of love.
After all this time I think I can say that marriage, or any relationship smelted in love, is capable of showing the sainthood, even divinity, that lives in each of us. And just maybe, that’s both the gift and the point. And that’s worth etching into some shell you found on the beach, or chiseling into that stone you found by the river, the one you both delight to walk along—still, after 29 years.
Thank you for this, Stephen. And congratulations to you and Deb on 29 years. May we all see our relationships with such compassion and grace.
Good reading. Nodded my head in familiar recognition thru most of it.
“How small faithful moments of attention without judgement, is water and sun enough to produce a great greening of love.”
Oh how I loved this entire musing and went over and over the above line and all its truth. Happy anniversary. 29 years is no small feat. Here’s to many, many more. Much love, Mandie
Ah, yes! and yes! Marriage provides a great ‘habitat for humility’, –and joy!
from both of us, M & I
Thank you Michael! So very appreciated.
Thank you Joyce! And thanks for nodding.
Beautiful and kind words. Thank you Mandie!
Thank you Ike and Millie. You eclipse us, and are our models.
Thank you everyone for your wishes! I let Steve do the writing after our discussions of what has kept us together. And as always he writes so beautifully, honestly and poetically. But then I’m prejudiced! And part of this journey of staying together has been enhanced by those we’ve met along the way. Thank you to each of you for being part of our lives.
Very moving Dad… But as poignant as you write, it in NO way makes up for how high your pants are hiked up in that picture.
Out of all of these. Beautiful. Happy anniversary Steve and Deb.
Thanks Steve – that was great.
Those small faithful moments of attention produces the greening of love that can blush into autumn foliage given fifty-nine years.
Wishing you an anniversary matching the beauty of your reflection on love.
Ray and Ginny
Michael…thank you…for the compliment and the laugh.
Thank you Joanne!
Thanks for that Kent! Truly appreciate it.
Thanks so much Ray and Ginny. That means a lot to us.
Man, Steve, never mind the pants, what in blazes have you got on your feet?! Your remarkable humility exposes my ridiculous vanity. Apart from these frivolous observations, I am warmed by your words as always. I wish you and Deb many years more of happiness together! Love, Mary
Mary, anyone as generous as you can never be “ridiculously vain.” Thank you for reading and for kind words…as always.
Congratulations to you both, Steve and Deb!
I loved the line: “small faithful moments of attention without judgement is water and sun enough to produce a great greening of love.”
How much the little things matter….
Sam
Celebrating long marriages is always a pleasure. Going to weddings is always a pleasure. Congratulations on your 29 years!
I hope you travel to someplace really lovely for your 30th! I always dreamed of Greece for our 30th.
My divorce happened at the 28 year mark and I’m just coming to realize the “gift” of it.
Sharon Mallon’s hot selling book tells us the gift is the realization that you married the wrong person.
My ex-husband recently said to our 3 adult children in a discussion about Mom’s latest adventure Cohen Corner,
“Your Mom has always been full of wonderful creative ideas and it’s too bad she created Cohen Corner with the wrong person.”
Is it right? Is it wrong? Time will tell.
It is a temporary art installation and I hope it keeps at attracting the poets and the people who find poets fascinating.
My first husband was a professional musician, and after him came a poet that I dreamed a cafe with and I also dreamed of travelling to meet his children and seeing the former Yugoslavia. I’m a dreamer. I have dreams.
But what I really need is a plumber in my life. I really need a plumber.