I've never been particularly lucky in love. It seems I've always only had eyes for the people I was actually infatuated with—maybe I was just born that way. It's possible other women "had their eye" on me over the years, but I never noticed. My wife was actually the one to point out this little phenomenon. She watched as women tried to reel me in, and my reaction was always a total zero; I was completely oblivious. At best, I viewed the opposite sex with the kind of platonic affection you'd have for a sister.
My first love was intense and vivid, but entirely one-sided. It started in the sixth grade, and the "hangover" lasted about five years. I fell for someone else once more during those years, but seeing how that person felt—or didn't feel—about me, I just shut it down. I was too afraid of getting burned again.
The last time I truly fell was in college. The girl wasn't against the idea of us, but her family's strict rules carried more weight than her feelings for me. That flame burned out on its own pretty quickly.
I don't feel those same earth-shattering, cinematic emotions for my wife, yet we have this deep, internal bond. Maybe that's what love is when it finally settles down. I honestly don't know what it's like to experience those wild "first love" feelings while also having them reciprocated in a marriage.
Maybe it's for the best. I remember how destructive and all-consuming that kind of love felt; it caused me a mountain of trouble. I lost all sense of control. I stopped studying and my grades tanked. Food lost its taste. Everything felt like a blur. The only thing that remained sharp was her face in my mind, the imagined sound of her voice, and the memory of her touch.
Back in the mid-nineties, growing up in a mid-sized town, there wasn't much information available about intimacy. Because of that, my fantasies never went beyond a simple touch—and they didn't need to. That was enough for me.
My sense of responsibility was forged early on by my parents, but my father tended to stifle my decisiveness. I'm constantly having to work on that side of myself.
After all, when your brain is that clouded by infatuation, how can you make a sound decision? How are you supposed to analyze anything at work when every thought is occupied by her? Though, I suppose if the feelings are mutual, it might work the other way—inspiring you to achieve great things and helping you reach your full potential.
I did write poetry back then, after all. As I recall, the muse visited me a couple of times when I first started dating my future wife. Every poem was about love.
Now, the sense of responsibility for my family overrides almost everything else. For example, if my wife asks me to water the flowers at our summer cabin, but my boss calls and says a vital report needs to be done by morning or I'll lose my bonus, I'm headed to the office. The flowers won't get watered, and I'll probably get a lecture for it. But flowers don't put food on the table; they only serve the owner's "soul" and their appreciation for beauty.
In that scenario, work is the priority because I know those funds ensure the family's well-being. The flowers can wait until the next day, or we can plant new ones over the weekend. I love a beautiful garden as much as anyone, but logic comes first.
I can say with absolute certainty that my wife is the only person who inspires me to reach my goals. Without her, my ambitions would be completely different—and much smaller.
As for children, I love them, but in my own way. In my dreams, the more we had, the happier I'd be. But when I say "in my own way," I mean my wife ALWAYS comes first, and the children come second. That's just how I'm wired. If she weren't in the picture, then yes, the kids would take the top spot. Even if I remarried, a second wife would still be second to them. But those are just "ifs," and I hope she lives a long, healthy life.
***
Because of those failed attempts at romance in my youth, my wife remains the only woman I've ever been with. Deep down, I suspect I'm a bit of a romantic—a seeker of adventure. I've never been physically unfaithful, though I can't say the same for my thoughts. In the digital age, that's easy enough.
There's another strange quirk in my character: a cycle of tolerance, intolerance, and a sort of emotional "torture." Let's start with the torture. To me, it means intentionally causing emotional pain to someone I love.
When I do it, I feel a strange sense of intoxication or relish. But then, I end up torturing myself because I begin to absorb the pain of the person I've hurt. Eventually, I try to find a way to turn the situation back into something positive, though it doesn't always work.
For instance, I once told my wife I might have to take a job in a remote region for six months to a year so we could finally afford our dreams. I told her this with a certain relish, and women can sense that. It triggered a storm of emotion. I haven't done that to her again.
Then there's my "intolerance." If I decide to do something, I need to do it now. If it requires money, I'll drain the family budget—leaving just enough to keep us from starving—and start immediately. It's a bad trait, I admit. My philosophy on the budget is that everything we earn is ours, and it should be accessible to both of us.
However, to maintain some discipline (since we both have a habit of wanting to buy everything we see), I manage a spreadsheet of our income and expenses. I hate living in debt. I'd rather find a way to earn more. Of course, earning more usually means spending more time at work, which my wife rarely agrees with.
As for my "tolerance," it shows up in how I handle being nagged; I try to tune it out entirely. Or when I give advice on how to do something, they do it their own way, and it ends up needing to be fixed. The most irritating part is when I'm the one who has to do the fixing. If I'm not sure how to do something, I'll say so upfront, but I'll offer to help find the right solution together.
The best example of my tolerance happened when my wife had our two children, who are barely two years apart. Kids have a massive amount of energy. They're loud, they fight, they make up—they're just kids. I was constantly at work but tried to help with the chores and the children whenever I could. My wife loved the kids, but the exhaustion and irritation were real. She needed to talk to someone other than those three "regular faces."
To help her mental state, I'd stay with the kids and send her out of the house. Even if she didn't need to buy anything, I'd tell her to just wander around. Neither of our parents were much help; mine weren't involved at all, and hers only watched the kids occasionally during the day. For the first three or four years, we never had a single moment alone without the children.
The internet became her escape. She started talking to people online—guys and girls. She didn't hide it from me. I knew it was a slippery slope and that it could become dangerous if a certain line was crossed. On one hand, the flirting helped her escape the grind of daily life. On the other, it could have turned into something more. I didn't show it on the outside, but inside I was burning up. Still, I wanted her to feel better.
Eventually, she filtered most of them out. Some guys were just looking for a one-night stand, and she cut them off immediately because she was looking for friendship and emotional connection—oddly enough, with someone other than her husband. But a couple of guys remained. At one point, I noticed she started deleting her messages with one of them.
That's when I panicked, though I kept my "cool" exterior. I'd been in a similar spot before; we got internet at my office before we had it at home. I almost lost my job because of an online flirtation. I caught myself just in time and cut that person out because I was spending all my working hours messaging them. I never once considered actually meeting them.
My wife, however, felt differently. One summer, she told me she wanted to meet her "online friend" just to chat, see him in person, and get out of the house for a bit. She insisted he was just a friend.
I tried to be logical about it—though sometimes I wish I had a woman's perspective, as male and female logic are so different. Knowing her character, I figured there were three things keeping her grounded: she was married, she had two kids, and the guy himself was on his second marriage. Plus, his wife didn't know about their friendship because she was the jealous type.
With a heavy heart, I agreed. What wouldn't you do for the happiness of the person you love? She drove to the next town over in the morning and came back before dark. She told me how it went and seemed happy, but she could see the state I was in, so she kept the details low-key. What actually happened is something only she and that guy will ever know.
My emotions were through the roof, but I held it together. Everything seemed fine on the surface, but I'm sure it was written all over my face. My first thought was to pack a suitcase and just leave if things felt "off" when she got back. I know that if she sets her mind on something, there's no stopping her. And if she'd actually fallen in love, it would be game over—I remember all too well what that's like.
When she arrived, she looked me straight in the eye. That told me nothing more than a meeting had occurred. If something had happened, she wouldn't have been able to look at me like that—at least not at first. It's a psychological tell, but it usually only works once, before the first time someone truly crosses the line. Once that line is gone, they don't care anymore.
The next year, the guy asked to meet again, but for some reason, it didn't happen. Eventually, their correspondence just stopped. These days, she doesn't really talk to anyone online like that. It was a painful chapter to endure. Even writing this now, the memories are flooding back, and it's unpleasant. That was several years ago.
My wife's perspective has changed since then. She's started thinking that she's reached an age where it's too late to "run off" anyway. She tries to convince me of the same, but I know better—we're both still in the prime of our lives.
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