Married for Twenty-Five Years (Self-Congratulatory Observations)

Our natural state. Exhausted and resting.

You write a lot and you hit a milestone?  Of course you have to put something together.  On November 26, 2019, Amy and I will be married for twenty-five years.  We’ve been married more than we haven’t.  We’ve been married since Clinton’s first term when most people didn’t have a computer or an email account. 

It’s been awhile.

Obviously, when you think you’re a smart guy and you’ve accumulated all this knowledge, it’s time to lay it on the world.  How does anyone stay married for twenty-five years?

Yeah, I don’t know.  I could give you our recipe but there is a very good chance it won’t work for you.  You may also think my marriage sucks.  Why? Because everyone is different, and every relationship is different.  Don’t ask people how to keep a marriage going.  Don’t read books about it. Seek some help and have that help catered to you and your partner. 

(Hey!  I guess I did have some advice.)

If I was forced to do so, I could detail a few things that helped us out.  Again, this worked for us.  Were young and stupid and broke.  Don’t start that way.

One of the first things we figured out is to not carry any grudges.  This goes along with keeping score, and that type of crap.  The adage goes: Don’t go to bed angry.  That’s a load of horseshit.  You’re going to go to bed angry every once in a while.  Just don’t wake up angry.  Let yesterday’s static fade away and understand that you are in it for the long haul.  If you keep score or let your imagined sleights build up over time, you aren’t acting like a married person.  You’re waiting out a clock somewhere.

Also, we really don’t argue.  We say our peace and move on.  I guess there is a style of marriage out there that can withstand daily drama and fights, but we could never be down with that.  If you are constantly fighting, something is wrong.  I’m not sure that’s a healthy baseline to keep in your life.  (Again, this works for us.)

We have three kids.  That took up a lot of time.  We still don’t have enough quality time together and that is a goal for our future.  But it’s also important to have a thing.  You each need to have your own thing.  Amy is a busy chef.  That’s pretty much her thing.  I have my job and this writing thing that’s been going on for 30 years.  These things do not really overlap.  I don’t work in a kitchen and Amy doesn’t write.  She doesn’t even like science fiction.  That’s cool.  This seems like a more accepted aspect of a healthy marriage, but for some people, they might not understand the importance. I also like the idea of having a thing together, too, but those are harder to come by with busy schedules.  At least there are movies and things like that to enjoy together.

It’s okay to have different entertainment. 

I’m sure it’s possible to have diametrically opposed political views in a marriage but I can’t imagine it. You don’t have to agree on everything but…you know…agreeing on most things is probably good.

Opposites attract, it’s true.  It’s better when opposites complement each other.  When it comes to mood and disposition, Amy is more direct current and I’m an alternating current.  No surprise.

Split chores.  No need to do them together. If your parent does a chore in a manner you don’t like, swap. Amy doesn’t do laundry well. Apparently, I do not know how to properly wash pans.

Don’t plan too much.  Don’t expect the other person to entertain you. It’s okay to do nothing.  Keep money meetings short.

Don’t live in a tiny house. Recipe for disaster. If you have to, buy two and keep them side by side.  If you live in a small space, set up two separate spaces to exist.  You need room to be yourself. 

Figure out how you and your partner like to receive love.  Words, hugs, help...the love language stuff.  I can’t imagine anything more important than to be reminded that you are loved and the obligation you have to return that feeling.  Whatever it is, do it often and don’t assume the other person is sick of it.  Unless they tell you.  Then, you have work to do.  I guess.  (I’ll take pretty much any attention I’m thrown, to its pretty easy for me.)

There!  Happy? 

#MeToo Showed Me How Dumb I Was

When I was little, girls were a mystery.  I grew up with a brother, and I was catastrophically shy, as detailed in a dozen other blog posts. I was afraid to talk to them, afraid to be around them, and when a girl would speak to me at school, I froze. 

It wasn’t long before they were part of my everyday life, and I became attracted to them. I still had no idea what to do, but I looked at this new wrinkle as a problem that I wanted to solve. They looked different, spoke different and liked different things. I also noticed the other guys were also attracted to them, and they had different ways to get their attention.  My way was to simply continue being shy and hope that someone would do all the work for me.  It wasn’t a good plan.

As I grew older and went to work, my interactions increased, and I forged a few relationships.  I was clumsy, but I tried.  I’m an observant person and the air of mystery dissipated.  Women were human, just like men.  Some smart, some dumb, some happy, some sad, some successful, some not-so-much.  It was merely repetition that got me there.  The simple act of waking up every morning and trying again.

Unfortunately, there were a few more important lessons to learn about women that I didn’t even realize were there the entire time.  By that I mean, since the dawn of civilization. 

How did you react when the #metoo movement kicked in a few years ago?  Were you one of the millions who revealed they were the victim of harassment or even worse?  Were you a person who didn’t give a shit at all?  Were you cognizant of all of this and unsurprised by the number of responses?  Or were you like me, completely shocked?  Not shocked by the treatment of one person to another; I’m not that naïve.  I was shocked at how ignorant I was.  I was embarrassed.  I felt stupid.  I like to think I’m smart and evolved, but the #metoo movement dramatically informed me that I didn’t know jack shit about the very world I lived in.

How the hell could there be this many stories of harassment, assault, marginalization, and rape?  Or more specifically, how the hell could all of these be out there, and we didn’t know about them?  The sheer volume of legitimate legal and civil cases would require a second justice system to wade through. There were repeat offenders walking the streets, running businesses, raising kids.  There were guaranteed felons living their lives and the police weren’t even looking for them. 

The answer is the worse part.  It’s the shittiest part of this entire story.  Whey weren’t these cases, complaints and eyewitness account part of the public record?  Because many of the women involved were convinced no one would listen. No one would believe them.  No one would care. Presumably, they believed this was just a part of life.

You hear what I’m saying, right?  Half the world is pushed around every day and it isn’t front-page news.

I still can’t shake that off.  I feel like a complete moron.

Call it patriarchal, white privileged, or whatever the best term may be.  They’re probably all correct. I’m an American.  I’m used to regular people with less money getting fucked over by those with more money.  It’s the American Way. I’m used to people of color getting fucked over by white people.  It is the central theme of American history.  Read it.  Studied it.  Got it.  But this?  How much have you ever read about women getting fucked over in your standard history text?  A chapter on suffragettes and that’s about it. A giant veil was lifted in front of me and every story I’ve ever known, both fictional and nonfictional, now is tainted with someone’s untold or overlooked story.

Every book.  Every pop song.  Every movie. Advertising, education, business, technology. The language, the idioms, the comedy, the tragedy.  It’s not what you think it is.  It has another meaning. 

Again, I’m a dope.

Going back to being an American: The one thing we all share is a rebellious spirit.  We speak up, protest, bitch, complain.  We exercise our rights to free speech.  The notion that half the population considered not saying anything when something heinous happened to them is enough to send chills down your spine.  That means the ones who reported got nothing. Or screwed over in a different way.  They didn’t get justice or a chance to get even.   Is there anything worse than no one believing you? You were assaulted or demeaned in some way and no one buys your story?  And you accept that?

The news has been full of stories about people of color and interactions with the police.  From annoying harassment to outright murder. It jumped out at me that if the rest of society wants to deal with this issue, the least they could do is acknowledge that it EXISTS!  The stats are there, the video footage is there, the body count is there.  How completely fucked-up is it that you can’t get a fellow human being to believe one of the worst experiences of your life?  How does someone heal or learn to trust again after that?

Now multiple that by half the world.

Are you looking for a solution?  I don’t have one.  I’m only acknowledging my ignorance and my struggle to understand. Sometimes I think that as we sort all of this out and adjust the justice system and society as a whole, men should introduce themselves to women by saying “I’m sorry.” Not to be flippant, but to just acknowledge.  I see you.  I’m aware. 

Maybe just be fucking nice to people regardless of who they are?  Try that shit out for size?