I'm married in Ordinary Time. Okay, I'm married in every
liturgical season. But there's something about being married in Ordinary Time
that compels me to write about it. Yesterday my spouse and I turned a corner in
our relationship that I didn't even know existed. It was magic. Granted, I wish
we hadn't discovered this new territory at 2 a.m., but…toddlers.
This got me to thinking about what it means to commit to someone and stay with them—I mean, really stay. This is the first time I've really stayed. I'm still not sure about the whole institutional marriage thing. That's another post for another day. But I am committed to loving this human for as long as we are on the planet together, and hope, sincerely, that our souls go on loving each other through our descendants and beyond the Ether forever (real talk.) I must admit that I have no idea what loving him means on any given day. Some days it means leaving him alone so he can get his work done. Other days it means listening more deeply than I ever have with as little judgment as possible. Some days it means getting my gloves shovel. Most days it means picking up after myself before I go to bed. Every day it means making coffee and putting it on the dresser before he takes a shower. My favorite days are when body and spirit align so that "you and me" turns into Us.
Honestly, there are days when I look at him and think "Love you? How the hell do I do that?" Reasons for this posture/orientation: 1) I can barely love myself most days 2) You pissed me off and don't deserve it 3) Seriously clueless about a concrete movement of love in that moment 4) I'm too scared to mess up 5) I'm busy and tired, so busy and tired that even contemplating the question makes me want to take a nap.
This got me to thinking about what it means to commit to someone and stay with them—I mean, really stay. This is the first time I've really stayed. I'm still not sure about the whole institutional marriage thing. That's another post for another day. But I am committed to loving this human for as long as we are on the planet together, and hope, sincerely, that our souls go on loving each other through our descendants and beyond the Ether forever (real talk.) I must admit that I have no idea what loving him means on any given day. Some days it means leaving him alone so he can get his work done. Other days it means listening more deeply than I ever have with as little judgment as possible. Some days it means getting my gloves shovel. Most days it means picking up after myself before I go to bed. Every day it means making coffee and putting it on the dresser before he takes a shower. My favorite days are when body and spirit align so that "you and me" turns into Us.
Honestly, there are days when I look at him and think "Love you? How the hell do I do that?" Reasons for this posture/orientation: 1) I can barely love myself most days 2) You pissed me off and don't deserve it 3) Seriously clueless about a concrete movement of love in that moment 4) I'm too scared to mess up 5) I'm busy and tired, so busy and tired that even contemplating the question makes me want to take a nap.
Some of those pack more weight than others, but they're all
real in the life of committed love.
I'm most interested these days, in Ordinary Time, at how often #3 reoccurs. I live with this person. We've made little humans together. We sleep next to each other, know each other’s' extended families, idiosyncrasies, voice inflections, triggers and ticklish spots. And yet with all this knowing, the unknowing still abounds. Seriously, last night, the stuff we ventured into--I had no idea. Not a clue. Felt completely in the dark. What a compelling, magically mysterious, luminous darkness. But they don't tell you that. They tell you, “Get married because it's the thing to do.”
I took some vows a few years back and asked God in and to bless. I stated my intentions, made promises and swapped symbols. Weddings—you've seen these events, I'm sure, or even participated in one—where people get all dressed up and witness some fairy tale about unconditional, eternal, faithful bliss. Hate to puncture any high floating naive balloons, but even the most mature humans are signing up for the impossible at that threshold. I don't care who you are, it isn't possible to get loving another human being right day in and day out. We humans are way, way, way, too messed up, selfish, insecure, and debased for all that.
You know what I wish? I wished we promised to be honest about getting love wrong at weddings. I wish that we promised to fail each other but to stay curious about those failings. I wish that we'd promise to draw closer to one another in those moments when we feel insecure and to be forgiving when we step on each other's vulnerability. I wish we kept it real in our culture about marriage: that you never arrive, that even if you're the best student of your partner's needs, wants and deepest desires, you're not always going to get them right in the moment nor fill them on a regular basis. How you and how they respond to that truth makes all the difference. I wish we made vows about what we do when we don't get it: don't get each other, don't get ourselves in light of the other. I wish we got married to mystery. That would feel so much less like lying.
It's been quoted before but it bears repeating: "Let's face it: we are undone by each other. And if we're not there's something missing.”—Judith Butler. Here's the point: Jerry Maguire was wrong. We don't complete each other. We are undone by each other. This means we are brought to the dust in our relationships. But in the dust we are also capable of becoming new if we keep trying to get tangled with one another from the ground up. That feels so much more worthy of our trying.
I'm most interested these days, in Ordinary Time, at how often #3 reoccurs. I live with this person. We've made little humans together. We sleep next to each other, know each other’s' extended families, idiosyncrasies, voice inflections, triggers and ticklish spots. And yet with all this knowing, the unknowing still abounds. Seriously, last night, the stuff we ventured into--I had no idea. Not a clue. Felt completely in the dark. What a compelling, magically mysterious, luminous darkness. But they don't tell you that. They tell you, “Get married because it's the thing to do.”
I took some vows a few years back and asked God in and to bless. I stated my intentions, made promises and swapped symbols. Weddings—you've seen these events, I'm sure, or even participated in one—where people get all dressed up and witness some fairy tale about unconditional, eternal, faithful bliss. Hate to puncture any high floating naive balloons, but even the most mature humans are signing up for the impossible at that threshold. I don't care who you are, it isn't possible to get loving another human being right day in and day out. We humans are way, way, way, too messed up, selfish, insecure, and debased for all that.
You know what I wish? I wished we promised to be honest about getting love wrong at weddings. I wish that we promised to fail each other but to stay curious about those failings. I wish that we'd promise to draw closer to one another in those moments when we feel insecure and to be forgiving when we step on each other's vulnerability. I wish we kept it real in our culture about marriage: that you never arrive, that even if you're the best student of your partner's needs, wants and deepest desires, you're not always going to get them right in the moment nor fill them on a regular basis. How you and how they respond to that truth makes all the difference. I wish we made vows about what we do when we don't get it: don't get each other, don't get ourselves in light of the other. I wish we got married to mystery. That would feel so much less like lying.
It's been quoted before but it bears repeating: "Let's face it: we are undone by each other. And if we're not there's something missing.”—Judith Butler. Here's the point: Jerry Maguire was wrong. We don't complete each other. We are undone by each other. This means we are brought to the dust in our relationships. But in the dust we are also capable of becoming new if we keep trying to get tangled with one another from the ground up. That feels so much more worthy of our trying.
Oh my......what to say.....other than "yes". Married to mystery-that's it.
ReplyDeleteThe only path to this level of love involves time. Lots of time. And if that which is glimpsed at the start is real and true both the mystery and the beauty deepen.
ReplyDelete