Weeding: a metaphor for having say in my life. The plants for which I leave room in my garden result from my own selection. Instead of dandelions, I see tulips. Instead of crab grass, I see an open space where we'll someday put a patio. The design stems from intention, regardless of the seeds wind plants on our property.
And I can weed that for which I wish to leave less room, out of my life with relative success. When I pack up and leave at the end of my contract day, it affords more time to spend with Anne. When I tell someone I need to set up a time to meet with them rather than attending to each professional the moment they seek me out, it leaves room for me to prioritize. Intentional decisions about how to spend time affords needed time for important things. It lets me plan. It lets me thoughtfully approach and attend to projects and tasks. The act of decision-making is a renewable resource, whose only charge is the degree of courage it may take to set boundaries. And like weeding, I can do it any time.
Intentionality. It's conscious planning. And it's a huge resource. Yesterday Harold took us out for a spin on our new bikes. He later told me that the idea occurred on his drive home, inspired by the weather and available daylight.
"I wanted to see you on that new bike again. You looked so happy on your first ride home with it the other day, and the weather's been bad. It's been too long, so I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity." -(or something very close to that.)
He wanted to see me as happy again on my new bike as the first day we brought it home. And his intentional planning paid off. I felt on top of the world, simply riding around a few blocks in our neighborhood. The ride felt smooth and comfortable. My body felt safe and relaxed, whereas on the mountain bike I felt neither. We gazed around at the spring lawns and the homes to which they belonged. And I offered him the comment "I'm having at least as much fun as skiing. Maybe more." After all, our neighborhood roll was lift-ticket free, required no transport of equipment before use, and without commute. We simply hopped on and went. Delightful.
Even sweeter was Harold's wish for my happiness, intentionally materialized into fruition, and truly savoured. I felt love. His caring act of thought, intention, and action, into such a simple pleasure held it's own beauty, quite apart from the love I felt from him. Huge deposit into the "love-account".
When we first married, we may both have projected that an enduring union involved escalating degrees of tolerance. Quick to add, we were, that our overwhelming love for one another would easily make up for it. Not so, at least I've found. We're both fairly insistent about getting our needs met, and tolerate a fairly small margin of inconvenience from one another to that end. It may be less about virtue, and more about fear.
"How can you leave dirty dishes the sink, when you know I need to make my lunch before leaving for work in the morning?" It's more about "don't you care about me?" and less about "the straw that broke the camel's back". So our marriage's longevity so far seems to benefit from looking at what needs caring for more than what can be tolerated.
Harold hates it when I leave the garage open. We have valuable stuff in there, and our garage has been robbed before. He has a valid point about closing, and even locking the door. I, on the other hand, have to heave that beast with all my might in order to slide it open. "Inconvenient" barely touches describing it, for me. So, I agree to keep it closed, and he agrees to open it for me. And we do a fair amount of simply leaving the cars in the driveway.
That sort of recognition and honoring one another's needs makes up part of the maintenance. Another piece more represents theory behind "love languages". When we can identify what brings happiness to one another, and then show a desire to create those situations, we're saying with actions (speaking, of course, louder than words), "I love you. I want you to be happy, and I know this brings you joy, so I'm doing what I can to bring that circumstance into your life."
So, when Harold took me out on our bikes yesterday evening, I felt really on top of the world. The feel of my new Cruiser very closely resembles how my childhood bike felt. I gave myself permission about when and where to go. Someone who truly loves me took the time to come with me. And he let me decide on the route. Maybe we were gone 15 minutes. The relative cost was free. Yet I've spent many hundreds of dollars with the intent to enjoy myself, and failed miserably. Yesterday love brought me great joy. Even the memory fills my cup to over-flowing. This, truly, is the life!
No comments:
Post a Comment