This morning I awoke to my regular alarm and was surprised to find myself alone. I hate that my first thought was about pornography. I hate that my first instinct was to doubt and to not trust....to think the very worst. I hate that about this new me.
But things were not at all bleak. I went into the boys' room to wake them up, to get them ready for school. I turned on the light only to find their beds empty also.
I went downstairs and found the boys on the couch watching television. My husband was not there either. I was a bit confused. And then I found him in my rocking chair in my sewing room.
He was writing in a book I had never seen before. He had told me that he had purchased a notebook to write in for the same reasons I started this blog. It is something impermanent. If he decides to keep it, fine....if not....he can throw it out. If I decide to keep writing here, fine...but if not, it is easily deleted and gone. Or there is also the middle ground of...I can print what I would like to keep or even use this as a reference to write an abridged account of things while tossing out the rest.
I told the boys to turn off the TV and get ready for school, went into the room, closed the door, and sat on the floor. We talked for a while.
I think he needs to find a passion....something into which he can throw his whole self and come out refreshed...something that can draw out his emotions and soften them. He is an artist. So you would think that would be a fairly emotional profession....but the truth is that he rarely creates a piece out of passion. He enjoys his work, he enjoys being creative...and he likes to create fan-art on the side....but rarely is there any more emotion or passion in his work than that.
So we were trying to figure out what his passion is....that thing that he wants to do when he is upset...the thing that makes him feel better when his emotions are overwhelming. He said it was gardening and being outdoors. So we tried to come up with some ideas about how he could use that passion in the winter and with the kids. I suggested that they each start a nature sketch book where they hike somewhere, find a plant, sketch it, and then come home and learn all that they can about that plant. They would each have their own book, and it would be for no one but themselves. Very low pressure. All the things they all like to do. And they can do it at any time of year.
He seemed to like the idea, but the pressures of the morning did not allow the time to really flesh it out much. We'll see where it goes.
In the course of our discussion, the subject of the piano came up. I realized I couldn't talk about. I knew that I was really sad that it is broken and not working properly...but even a few words broaching the subject and I was in tears. I just can't bring myself to think about it, let alone talk about it. I am heartbroken. It is my passion. My catharsis. It is where I have consistently gone to work through my emotions, both joy and sorrow. Every major moment of my life has been reflected over a piano....high school crushes and disappointments, acceptance into college, marriage and the births of my children, drama in my family, the death of my grandmother and father, moving, bad days, good days, a raise at work, being yelled at by a neighbor...it's all been recorded in the keys and notes of my piano. It seems so silly and cliché...but that's who I am. I believe that each moment in life has a soundtrack and I don't enjoy music that I can't participate in.
The last few days I have found myself happy during the day. And today I realized it was because my husband and I had taken the time to connect in the morning before life butted in. I don't think I realized how important it is to take the time to actively connect with him. I've never not loved him. And I think it is pretty normal to occasionally just not like him too much. But I've neglected that connection between us. It's apathy. We weren't unhappy. But we weren't exceptionally happy either. We were apathetic...and content with our apathy. I think a lot of marriages experience that, which is sad. I think we all could be a little happier if we didn't allow ourselves to become complacent about the really important things in our lives.
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