Last Saturday I was beyond exhausted, going on three hours of sleep the night prior after a week of judging and coaching and supervising energetic and lovely teens. I was trudging through a “Phoenix Hot” Airport (which is my way of saying that though I was not sweating I was beet red and my lungs were filled with the dry air that had made my skin itch all week and the noses of students and colleagues literally bleed). I had just dumped 14 people at the departures entrance, returned a rental car, and was now dragging my front heavy suitcase (apparently you shouldn’t pack extra Diet Mountain Dew bottles in the front zippers) which awkwardly toppled every few minutes. Though I had two very very kind adults with me, my slow walking, and the challenge of the task while so very very tired left me feeling alone. As I sat there wondering what my freaking weak ass deal was, it suddenly occurred to me, I had not wheeled my heaviest suitcase through an airport for over 20 years now. That, along with things like mowing the grass, taking out the trash, cleaning the fridge, and replacing the air filter, are just Sephus’s jobs. The absence of him in that moment, and the knowledge that I would go another week before seeing him weighed heavy on my heart but also filled me with a clarity of love I am still in the process of realizing.
When I was a kid all I wanted was to fall in love. I was a sucker for every side love story in every narrative I consumed. I fell in potential love on a daily basis - every male remotely close in age to me being carefully assessed for his potential to be the one to write my personal fairy tale of romance inspired by all the books, movies, and TV shows I constantly enjoyed. I used to sit in the back of my mom’s mini-van belting “I Am a Woman in Love” (a 4th grade woman mind you) and my Barbie dolls would slow dance to Air Supply. I would watch Dallas and ask my dad to play Pamela and Bobby. Sixteen Candles played on repeat, and I would dream of a Jake Ryan look-alike who would ask to carry my books once I got to high school. Spoiler alert - it didn’t happen. High School brought me a series of very very good guy friends who dumped all their relationship drama on me which I eagerly comforted them through just glad for their time and company in some watered down version of what I actually needed. I sacrificed myself so often back then. I smiled through all the jabs disguised as kindness… you are going to make someone so happy someday… you will make such a great wife, girlfriend, etc… just not for me… The combination of this slight alongside the importance I placed on this made me feel perpetually unworthy of what I deemed the most important love one could receive.
Then I met Sephus - and we instantly crafted that obnoxious form of “in love” I had craved for so long. We had that instant can’t get enough of you, we hit the jackpot, everyone around us hates us or wants to be us kind of in love we had been denied in the years leading up to that. It took us all of two months to say I love you and all of ten months to seal our fate by getting engaged. And then things got real… which sometimes meant hard. And I soon found out I didn’t make such a great wife… I was selfish. I was obstinate. I was messy. I spent (and spend) much of my days giving the world my absolute best and come home and breathe this sigh of relief into my home that looks grumpy and lazy and inconsiderate more often than it should. And despite all that, Sephus loves me through it all in ways that look nothing like the narratives I embraced as a child.
What I didn’t realize all that time was that there was something out there so much more important than falling in love - falling in trust. Trust that you will be loved through your ugliest and weakest moments. Trust that you will find new ways to enjoy each other’s company. Trust that when things get really really hard you might take a breather but you will never ever leave or be left. Trust that you can raise a family together and tap out and tap in as the other needs with the unique skills and expertise you each have so that together you can build your best lives.
When I lugged that obnoxious suitcase around the airport I was filled with a passion for Sephus that I don’t always appreciate. Taking care of other people’s kids for a week without that equal partner to just hand it over to when the decisions got as heavy as the bags made me realize how incredibly blessed I am to have found someone willing to give me the freedom to live the life I want with the guarantee of a constant safety net. Today we celebrate (or don’t celebrate because he is now off supervising other people’s children in the Tetons) twenty years of marriage. Twenty years of him caring for me in ways that look nothing like the romances that made me fall in love with romance, but which keep me from toppling over on a daily basis. And when I do topple, he is always there to catch me, pick me up, and lug me to our next step. I thank him for showing me daily that love hides everywhere. If you can see it and learn to give it, you will construct a story worthy of chasing.
