Like An Old Pair of Boots

 There's a saying that a long, contented marriage becomes like a worn, comfortable pair of shoes. My husband and I have been together for over thirty years, give or take a few chaotic years between, and if shoes are the metaphor, I would describe our relationship as a pair of sturdy, able to traverse rough terrain, all-weather boots. I am a verbal, effervescent, energetic dynamo with a sharp, harpy side and patient, steady Dan, has a wit and humorous repartee that has gotten him out of many a years later household project completion or banal argument. I've never thought of him as my “knight in shining armor” but I do think of him as the “saint who saved my soul.” Dan also occasionally restores the gift of sight to any blind kids who pass his way.

Even after thirty years, when I see him walk through our kitchen door my romantic heart sings and my wise heart knows I am a lucky woman. We met in our late twenties, both substitute teaching at a private school in Ojai, California. This six-foot-three, curly blond, short bearded guy wearing a flannel shirt, jeans and rubber boots came walking down the hallway and simply stunned me. I knew...I mean I literally knew, this was it. We introduced ourselves and Dan doesn't know why he did so, but as we wandered together toward the music room, we sat down at the piano and he played me one of his original songs.

Our history together began that idyllic spring with runs through orange groves, hikes through forests and canyons, shared philosophical and literary discussions. Dan had a commitment to spend the summer visiting and working with friends in Chiloquin, Oregon and I came along. It was a summer of finding our love, finding our place together, and finding that we wanted to move to the Pacific Northwest. We packed all we owned in my station wagon and his Chevy van and made the trek to the college town of Eugene, Oregon. Jobless and houseless, we slept under layers of covers in the van, on the floors of friend's living rooms until jobs and duplex were found.

Since then, we have climbed mountains, kayaked rivers and lakes, bought a house and created a lush garden, and raised our daughter. The years have fled like wild fire. Though our relationship began with a big, romantic bang and continues with a deeper, more treasured love, there were the moments and even the years when difficulties and challenges left us hanging over a cliff, not knowing whether we would be able to make the landing together or apart.

It was our seventh year. Call it the seven year itch. We were still renting, still saving our money for our own home. I was going through a mid-thirties panic, wanting to be settled, wanting to have a child. My father had died earlier that year and I was off in my own world grieving his loss. And here is the main insight: in a relationship there is always more than one world, there are actually three: the world of the relationship, the world of the one partner and the world of the other. Sometimes the worlds of each pair become too unconnected and to burst through the bubble of each world can take time and work. Dan was on one side, the side of fearing the immense responsibility of having a child and owning a home. I was on the side of time running out.

We bought our home and then parted, each living our separate lives. Every relationship has pain and ours did for over a year. I thought there would never be a new beginning or a happy ending. I thought as I neared forty my window for having a child was closed. But here's where life's ups and downs, twists and turns, have a way of straightening out if we allow the process to happen. We got together again and sought counseling. We knew we loved each other, but we weren't sure what was getting in our way. So for another few years we worked both individually and together at clearing our path of childhood debris and miscommunications.

During the beginning of our separation I had had our front lawn rototilled up. I laboriously removed and piled each piece of sod and hauled it to the dump. Then with a friend we built two raised beds, and worked at shaping curved mounds of soil to the front and side of these beds. Thus began the creation of a vegetable/flower garden. What I realized months later was that this garden became the symbol of my own transformation. I was digging up past personal and relationship issues I hadn't faced. I was strengthening the single self that got lost in the duo. I was planting the seeds of my own needs, wants and wishes.

Living apart and then working together through counseling on our relationship was the greatest gift we could give one another. This gave us the opportunity to rediscover and redefine what our love meant and to find ways to better communicate that love. After the counseling and the “dating”, we held a celebration of our commitment to one another by having an outdoor wedding with family and friends. We each quietly wrote our vows ahead and shared them for the first time at the ceremony. One of Dan's vows was to have and raise a child with me. A year and a half later, at the age of forty-two, I gave birth to our amazing daughter.

That we made it through the storms, that we landed together at the bottom of the cliff, that we conceived and raised a child, astounds me. That decades later we love and appreciate each other more than ever is a testament to the ability to achieve a solid, lasting marriage. How did we get from romance to deep, resilient passion? We each had to become individually whole before we could become whole as a couple. We each had to not be afraid to state our wants and needs and we each had to be able to listen and clearly understand the wants and needs of the other. Humor helps too. He still makes me laugh. I know I'm lucky. I know Dan is neither a knight nor a saint but here is another big one: Dan aways forgives and always accepts and encourages me to be myself, no matter what. He has taught me so many lessons and I am sure I too have given him a few teaching moments. I can think of no better way to learn and grow than through a loving marriage. We are as comfortable as an old pair of rugged, rubber boots, knowing when the rains come we'll stay warm and dry.

(c) 2011