For My Valentine

It is always dangerous to try to measure reality against the impossibly high benchmark of fiction. Our most treasured romances, from Romeo and Juliet to Rachel and Ross (or even Monica and Chandler!), endure because they stand well apart from the normal, clunky, sometimes maddening reality of our own relationships. These fictional love stories stay with us, in all of their far-fetched idealism, because we want them to be that way. We prefer to have the wool pulled over our eyes. Honestly, would anyone be interested in watching The Bachelor and his bride debate what style of house to move into, or even what movie to watch? Of course not. These things hit too close to home for us. We want these little issues (and the big ones too) to just, somehow, not be issues anymore. Wouldn't it all be so much easier if he wanted an old Victorian too, and she loved Star Wars as much as him? Well, yes. But would it be BETTER? I'm not so sure.

Couples are supposed to be one in heart and one in mind. This is a goal that we promise to shoot for when we enter into a marriage. It's essentially in our contracts to try to see eye-to-eye as much as possible. So eventually, we should get to the point where we always understand each other perfectly, right? As far as I can tell, this is a definite no. Even great couples have their differences. Real-life relationships are a process of constantly adjusting and re-adjusting, like an orchestra tuning their instruments before a performance. But canned TV romance? It's instant relationship harmony!  That's why we're so ga-ga for love stories. No potholes to fill, and no wrinkles to iron out. I'm guilty of this kind of escapism, just as I'm guilty of making wrinkles and opening up potholes in my marriage. I'm also guilty of bemoaning the fact that our relationship doesn't measure up to the ideal that I have in my head. I know the tactful thing would be to say it "doesn't always measure up," but let's be honest: most of our relationships don't hold a candle to the typical soap opera romance. Not even close. Summer and are completely, 100% on the same page about a given issue, oh, about two percent of the time. But here's the big secret: we WORK IT OUT. We wrestle with our disagreements, hammer out the dents, come to a workable compromise, and move on. Do we both get our way? Nope. In fact, most of the time, neither of us gets exactly what we want. But the point that I'm getting to is this: the process of wrestling with ourselves, of learning to submit our own desires--even partially--so the person we love can be satisfied too, leads to frequent moments of clarity where you and your partner are totally, unwaveringly in sync. All that bad stuff--the smoothing of wrinkles, the comforting bruised egos, living with the consequences of your thoughtless actions--all that stuff is there so you can work through it together and emerge, hand in hand, on the other side. In effect, you become (no matter how temporarily) ONE in heart and in mind. 

The scriptures teach us that part of the reason that it was necessary for our first parents to leave their state of paradisiacal innocence was so they could experience the evils of the world--so that, by tasting the bitter, they could better appreciate the sweet things in this life. I wonder if Romeo and Juliet were ever as in love as Summer and I when we kiss and make up after a painful fight? In this (belated) Valentine's day post for Summer, I need her to know that although I love her strengths--her unwavering loyalty to her family, her wit, her faith, her affection for me and for Oliver--I also appreciate her weaknesses--her anxiety, her stubbornness, her impatience with mediocrity. Although these can be bitter pills to swallow, they make our moments of harmony that much sweeter. I love you, sweetheart, and I always will, through good times and bad.

Sean