As much as this family aims to keep it simple and take it slow, life has a way of getting complicated and also fast. Too fast. Faster than my own inner rhythm by a pretty significant measure. But this weekend we shifted out of our beloved weekend groove and got out of town. Just the four of us. It was wonderful and terrible and exhausting and rejuvenating all at once, as I’m learning to be the way of family travel. I could tell you plenty of stories about the terrible and the exhausting, but that’s not the real story of this weekend.
The real story is better than all of that. It’s about remembering something that I’m sad to say that I had forgotten too often in this last year. The real story is that I love my wife. I love her bigger and wider and deeper than I ever imagined possible. And as fun as it is to talk about how impossibly hot and freakishly smart she is and how hard she makes me laugh, the love doesn’t really have a whole lot to do with any of that. It has everything to do with the fact that I cannot imagine building this life and this family with anyone else.
This weekend reminded me of all of the ways that we fit together. I love those ways and I wish that the buzz-buzz-buzz of life didn’t distract me from them. I guess this would be one of the reasons that people go on so about travel. No matter how much you may adore your familiar little world, getting outside of it does allow you to see it in a different way. A refreshed way. And I’m grateful for that.
So, here’s to my wife. She just carries on being her beautiful self even when I’m too tired and self-involved to notice. And here’s to marriage in all of its drudgery and beauty. I’m deeply grateful for the fact that I get to share this life with her, even though sometimes I forget. It feels like home when I finally remember.