Suddenly, I know a fair number of people getting divorced. And it makes me sad. It makes me sad because I can’t imagine the pain inherent in the unraveling, in the parsing of things and thoughts. I can’t imagine any of it.
And, frankly, it makes me thankful. It makes me realize what I have. A man whom I love deeply and complexly who is also my very best friend. A man who mocks the artful way in which I load the dishwasher, a man who puts up with my dramatic overthinking of existence, a man who brings me a cup of coffee when he knows I need it.
On Saturday night, as we walked home from dinner, I hung back. I hung back and I snapped a photo of this man, this man whom I love and this man who loves me. The picture is distressed and faded and blurry in spots, but, still, I adore it. I adore it for its dreamlike, ethereal, wispy ethos. I love it for the fact that it is him, just him, not him with the kids hanging from his limbs, not him being a superstar dad. Just him. A person.
I vow to do this more: To hang back. To realize. To not take for granted the immense and complicated and abiding affection I feel for this guy.
Do you know a lot of people splitting up? Do you agree with my theory that a lot of people divorce after 5-10 years of marriage because they feel like they are young enough to begin again but also that they have given many years and much effort to their marriage?