Balancing

July 28, 2012

Marriage is a roller-coaster ride. It is a slow climb, a sharp curve, a lull and a heart-stopping fall. Nearly 20 years into it, I’m happy most days. I’m lucky: F. is one of my best friends. I say “one of,” because my best friends, generally, are women. There’s just no competing with that.

And yet, every now and then, F. and I hit a pothole. We look at each other, and talk to each other, but there’s a disconnect.  “Who are you?” I wonder.  “Are you the man I once adored?” It’s terrifying: when the man to whom I’ve committed myself is a stranger; or when we are suddenly, unexpectedly, embattled.

We had one of those days recently. I could feel it coming, like a thunderstorm. An uneasiness hovered between us. An invisible wire stretched taught across a hidden path. We didn’t name it. We danced around it, each of us knowing something was amiss: a pea under the mattress. The day was hot, the air thick, suffocating. I didn’t take much. A spark on tinder, and we ignited.

Most of the time our skirmishes flare because one of us needs something and does not, cannot ask. Sometimes it’s support; sometimes, intimacy or solitude.  When we don’t recognize the need, it may chafe, swell and erupt. The trick is knowing when to call it out and when to let it go.

We snarled at each other for a while and then retreated to our corners, finding solace in the space each of us had needed all along, without knowing.

Live someplace long enough and change happens. Children grow up and leave home. Stores come and go. Couples that once seemed perfect dissolve. We watch each other, wondering who will be next.

It took the first 10 years of marriage for me know that F. and I were solid. Finishing our second decade together, we still are. But I take nothing for granted. We are still learning how to take care of each other while taking care of ourselves. Sometimes it’s a tightrope walk: balancing the need for closeness with the need for distance; knowing when to brace ourselves, and when to float.