Asking the hard question: Are we better together or apart?
Years ago, when our children left our nest to build their own, my husband and I sat down and asked ourselves a very hard question. Are we better together—or apart? Our marriage is, and always has been strong, solid—and scrappy. It seems that two people living together in a tent/garage/house and getting along every single day for decades, is a hard thing. Though both well suited to our lifestyle as Vermont hippie/artist/diehard DIYers, our Venus-to-Mars communication system has always had plenty of static.
Our birth languages are different.
Mine is the spoken word, his is not. I am an externalist, he is internal. Ours is an energetic relationship. Day-to-day harmony was a dream state we hadn’t lived in since our free and easy dating era.
Asking ourselves the hard question, we knew everything we had worked so hard to build together was at stake, especially if our answers did not match. We knew that one or both of us could be delivered a crushing blow, so we took a few days to individually search our souls. There was the practical side of the question to consider: Good God to start over? Where, how, alone, or with someone new? Could we financially afford to split up and start two new homes and lives, when it took everything we had to continuously build one? These were exhausting thoughts. Then there was the philosophical side of the question to consider: Whatever was wrong with each of us, would likely be brought forward anyway. If we struggled to get along easily with each other, how could we get along any better with anyone else?
Then there was the heart to consider: Did we love each other? Specifically, did we love each other enough to choose to stay married to each other? I knew that I loved my husband deeply, I just didn’t always like him. I sensed he might feel the same about me. Mulling it over A few days later, we reconvened and found that our answers matched. We both believed we were better together.
There was comfort and relief in knowing that our earlier statement of “I do,” for better or worse, was still intact. While we were relieved, it did not change who we were. Our getting along challenges remained intact as well. The year of allowing So I spent a little time thinking about what the barriers were to getting along better and the word “impatience” came to mind. Specifically, my impatience toward him. I wondered what I could do to improve my patience that did not include any shoulds (as in, you should be more patient, since that has never worked for me). Nor did I want to set any expectations on my boyfriend-husband changing either (equally fat-chance-ish).
So what did I have to work with? When I thought about impatience, I thought about coffee… let me explain. When still young parents, our friends bought over an antique, wall mounted, coffee grinder and dark, whole coffee beans. It was my first time to drink coffee and I fell in love with it. But coffee amped me full of electricity, which I did not need as I was blessed with plenty of natural energy. But I fell under its spell for decades: with me in love with it, but it decidedly not in love with me. A wanting Buying a bag of good decaffeinated coffee, I lifted the lid of my decanter, and slowly swirled and swirled and swirled, one scoop of decaf, into the regular coffee grounds. It didn’t feel like something I should do. There was no resistance, it just felt natural. Like a little swirling meditation. A few days later I sent another scoop swirling into the pot. And found myself wanting. Wanting to add another scoop. So whenever I felt that wanting, I did. And slowly, peacefully, easily, my whole being shifted away from caffeine without headaches, resistance, loss or shoulds. And when it was time to buy more coffee I was ready to pour a whole bag of decaffeinated coffee into my vessel.
It was a peaceful transition of power. Caffeine was no longer in the driver’s seat. I was. I noticed that whenever I do something that is good not only for me but for others, I get gifts. Embracing the word “patience” to attempt a more harmonious marriage made my tummy a more peaceful place. And who doesn’t love a peaceful tummy? Do I have more patience with my boyfriend-husband? Sometimes. Specifically, when I take time to (mindfully) slow down my breathing, and take a step back. While I don’t always do it, I do it way more than I used to. Viewing impatience as a gremlin that I can choose to engage with, or not, I can let it pass over my shoulder like a foul wind. And I now choose to fill my vessel with better things. In mid-August, when we awoke, my boyfriend-husband said, “Happy 41st anniversary, baby.” “You too,” I said, then added, “Do you want to stay married for another year?” “Sure,” he said, adding a chuckle to my giggle. For more information about Sandra Dee Owens visit: sandradeeowens.com.
