You might’ve heard the story before: on this day twelve(!) years ago, two weeks after our first date, my “running friend” and I flew out to San Diego after I jokingly suggested “You should take me on a luxurious vacation.” His response: “To where?”
It was only appropriate that when it came time for our first trip after our youngest was born, we headed to the same place where it all began.
I was certain that our whirlwind romantic rendezvous would always be my favorite love story. It’s just like one you’d find in a book: girl gets comfortable with being single but accidentally begins to see guy friend in a new light, guy uses grandiose gestures to woo her, they buy a house, turn it into a home. Happily ever after.
I was wrong.
Those swept-off-her-feet stories make for great animated classics wherein it begins and ends with a castle of dreams. Those love stories are perpetuated in our culture, but they’re so…easy. It’s easy to fall for this trap of black and white—platonic friendship being the opposite side of a coin from romantic love. These are the stories that encourage young women to believe that finding “their person” is a matter of getting to the finish line.
But love isn’t a race—rather, it’s a dance. Sometimes you step on each others feet, sometimes you can’t get the rhythm right. Other times, he might shuffle over to ladle some punch into an iridescent plastic cup while you scream-sing No Doubt with your closest girlfriends. You might even think that you weren’t meant to dance with them, that other dancers seem to be having more fun, that finding a rhythm that works feels too hard.
Then an old song comes on, each of you stop trying to take the lead, and you ride out the melody like a wave.
The aftermath of this most recent San Diego trip is my new favorite love story: the story of when we each stopped trying to take the lead and began to cheerlead. When we stopped fearing our ambitions would be squandered by the others’ and saw how much stronger we’d be if we put more eggs in each other’s baskets.
Falling-in-love stories are special, they’re beautiful, and they can only happen once in a couple’s life. The physical attraction and intimacy is through the roof, and our culture loves sexy. But a falling-in-rhythm story is layered, it’s got history, and those acrid moments leading up make it all the more sweet. Physical intimacy can be had by many, but building emotional and intellectual intimacy and honest admiration alongside physical intimacy is something that must be tended to. As is keeping a friendship intact when societal, parenting, and financial pressures team up with old, negative coping tools learned in your family of origin.
Today I celebrate a dozen years since I fell in love. Much like Alice in her Wonderland, this fall seems to never cease.
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I love this piece and have come back to read it several times since you posted it.
I think “forever partners” can have different seasons of intimacy and tension, and (not but!) choosing to call that person home base even when it’s rocky is the thing that shows and reinforces the strength of the bond.
Thank you so much for your heartfelt comment. I put a lot of heart and soul into my writing and publishing it sometimes feels like a “why bother?”—or I’ll get wrapped up in the way it could get misinterpreted.
But. Learning that others re-read a post is the greatest compliment I receive. I love the idea that I gave a reader a thought to chew on & they came back for another bite.
I agree that calling someone home base despite the struggles is a great reinforcer. To be frank, for us it wasn’t even that romantic. It was logic—a realization that separating was going to be hard work, that suffering through power struggles was going to be hard work, and rebuilding our connection was also going to be hard work. We chose the hard work with the biggest payoff.
The bond was mended from that place & and the strengthening came from that.
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