I fell in love with someone else.
In a couple of our toughest fights over the years, Jill in tears or in anger has said, “I fooled you. I am not who you thought you married.”
She was close, but truth sometimes boils close to the surface in the cauldron called life, or the coffee mug of relationship. When truth boils close to the surface, we sometimes try to enunciate it because it is as close as we have ever come to truth, there, just below the surface. Having come this close, this MUST be truth! Look how different it is compared to all else in the cauldron or mug. Smell that fragrance, which is unlike anything ever from Keurig or Starbucks! That must be truth.
So Jill believed herself. I let her believe. Jesus wept.
I argued pointedly, but not the sort of arguing that has certainty when you know what is false (what she said) because you know the truth it is close to. You argue stronger if you know the truth she should have seen and said, before it turned in a convection current of heat or foment and was gone – leaving only a memory of the incorrect conversation.
Jill is not the woman I married. That was a girl-friend, child-woman shadow of the imposing woman; with whom I travel this world.
And she is more, deeper, more fearsome, more unrelenting at times, more passionate when I am coasting, and more demanding. She demands more of me.
She demands better of me.
So we talked last night and I spoke of shortcomings from me that cost her greatly for a day and a half. And this is the nut, the gist, the genius of Jill not being who I thought she was when we married.
I could not conceive of this woman today. That’s the problem with being a boyman. I knew she held more potential for me than any other woman I had met, I just could not conceive of the steel of her, even after watching her birth two and lose one. I just could not conceive how much I would need the resoluteness when I was faltering in my way, or sloshing improper behavior on her that dishonors her.
She won’t stand for it. Won’t let me get away with that.
The girl I married was beautiful, and maybe she loved me so much that I could continue being a _____ at times.
I was wrong about her. I was wrong about that.
I can’t use the excuse of being a boy any longer.
I have much growing up to still do, though.