For the record
Posted on | September 13, 2008 | 14 Comments
I’m not sure why I feel compelled to write about the messy sharp-edged rawness; skies the color of cement, thunder storms, evening clouds ripped to shreds and stained vermillion with the setting sun. Except to say that I write because these things matter, and my words are like the layers of snow buried within a glacier of all the winters that have come before.
Maybe it’s because I want to know that I was here, that we were, again and again. I want others to know this too; perhaps to offset the Hollywood happily ever after we’re all fed as teenagers.
As a culture we spin so many myths and prick ourselves in the process like the princess in Sleeping Beauty. We easily fall into a slumber of illusion, the roses growing thick around us, all those velvet petals and sweet fragrance blurring our view of the thorns that grow there too. We lie about our happiness, over and over again. Perhaps we cannot help ourselves.
Flip through any magazine, and without fail there are the glossy images of women defying death: skin taught and unwrinkled, eyes bright as they stare dreamily into the eyes of some muscular man poised to sweep them off their feet (or at an equally dreamy handbag.) The illusion is complete: beauty, possessions, money—these things make you happy.
I remember when my husband and I were camping in Puerto Rico long before we were married. We were both in college still. It was spring break. The sand was like sugar and flecked with shells. The water bluer than blue. Every evening postcard perfect clouds in rose and choral decorated the sky just for us. We were in love. Naturally we decided to spend a night sleeping under the stars right there on the beach, without a tent, just us, and our sleeping bags zipped together and partly open to the warm night air, our naked bodies tangled and salty from playing all day in the waves.
How many times have you seen the image of lovers sleeping on the beach—or making love for that matter, hip deep in salt water, her shirt white and wet hugging the alluring curves of her firm round breasts? Enough times to believe it, right? Well it fucking sucks in actuality. Sleeping on the beach feels like being rubbed down with sandpaper. Sand in every crevice: eyelids, nostrils, ears, unmentionable places. There are also sandf flies and the endless worry of an unusually high tide.
Sometime after midnight when the full moon was directly above us and we both finally stopped pretending to be blissfully asleep, DH turned to me, “Wanna go back to the tent?” he asked. Hell yes. Still we kind of felt like romantic failures–until we burst into uncontrollable laughter, and rolled together into a heaving heap in our tent.
But isn’t that what we learn? That true love, true happiness, and a real romantic marriage is always happy and glamorous and exquisite. The beach is never really sandy. There are never any sand flies, or sunburn or yeast infections or heartache or ego.
So I write about the days when things are tense and the friction feels like the sand felt on my sunburned skin.
Maybe by circling back to these moments I create a different illusion—that my marriage is fraught with conflict, which is hardly the case. There is so much sweetness between us, so many moments jam-packed with goodness like this morning, when we went to the farmers market and wandered around grinning at each other licking cinnamon and sugar from our fingers. So many hours, days, weeks even, when we fit together like seals basking on salty rocks: effortless in our play and our contentment.
But I want to record the other times too, because they are hard. Because growth never comes from the moments of easy pleasure. Growth comes when the ache is greatest, when wanderlust and terror swell equally in my chest and I choose instead to stay, to say I’m sorry, and to grow with this man at my side. Again and again and again.
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14 Responses to “For the record”
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I am Christina Rosalie
Hello. I'm so happy you've stopped by!
I am a multimedia storyteller, digital strategist, idea starter, stalker of wonder, finder of four leaf clovers, MFA graduate student, and mama of boys. My first book,
will be published by SKIRT! Books in September, 2012.
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September 13th, 2008 @ 8:36 pm
I have been married for 23 years. It is sweeter and richer now than it has ever been. And yes, I agree, growth comes when the ache is greatest.
September 13th, 2008 @ 8:38 pm
Beautiful!
September 13th, 2008 @ 10:03 pm
again perfect. thank you.
September 13th, 2008 @ 10:54 pm
Really nice. I am in love, but stay grounded knowing that even better things are ahead. Life is just a matter of taking each element as it comes. I never wish for the past or the future.
September 14th, 2008 @ 2:49 am
Amen, O!! Amen!
September 14th, 2008 @ 9:01 am
You are so right – growth comes from doing the work that love brings. I always mistrust those who say “you shouldn’t have to work at this.” I don’t work at loving my husband, I love him easily and without reason, I knew I would never stop loving him, even when we were apart. But I do have to work on being in a good relationship, somedays. I have to work on being a better person, someone who is kind and asks forgiveness and who grants it, too. I loved Liz’s comment from the post before – you bring us truth, the words that we all live, and you must always know: we understand.
September 14th, 2008 @ 12:25 pm
This is one of the most beautiful and true posts I’ve ever read (and you have a knack for writing both). Marriage always involves the sandy with the sweet, and thank you for sharing both with such exquisite honesty.
September 14th, 2008 @ 8:21 pm
i appreciate that you are compelled to write and that you do write…thank you for this.
September 15th, 2008 @ 10:43 am
Beautiful, honest and real, thank you.
(I found your blog through a friend, your writing is beautiful)
September 15th, 2008 @ 5:25 pm
You write, these days, with so much more depth than you ever have before, your words auguring through the dry ground as though seeking the deep, deep wellsprings. I can barely wait for you to realize you’ve already reached them. You are a blessing to everyone about you, truly touched by whatever it is that people mean when they speak of God.
September 16th, 2008 @ 9:54 am
and that is why i come back again and again, to read your honesty, real raw truth…because it is what we all go through. you should really write a book about relationships. heck, just publish your blog into a book and sell it, there ya go, relationships/children all rolled into one. and it’s real. love that.
thank YOU!
tara
September 23rd, 2008 @ 4:09 pm
Hello,
I left a comment here – yesterday, or day before. I would really appreciate knowing why you have chosen not to have it on record here, so I can spare you further incidents of the same kind
Regards,
Swati
September 23rd, 2008 @ 5:15 pm
Swati–no no! Your comment was so lovely and thoughtful–as was your post about poetry on your blog. I’m so sorry it got deleted. I have a really ineffective spam filter–so I get like eighty-nine trillion spam comments every day and scan through them quickly for signs of life. I accedentally missed yours when I hit “bulk moderate.” Please don’t stop coming by!
September 26th, 2008 @ 3:41 am
Thanks, I was afraid I had given offense in some way
As to coming by, you know how I feel about the way you write! Doesn’t seem any danger of not reading yours everyday