would like to think that I was a good wife during the first 12 years of my marriage. Not necessarily always reasonable – and what woman is? My marriage resembled driving a sports car. My husband was the accelerator – I was the breaks – and that combination provided a much needed balance – at least in my opinion. The best projects were completed after all, some potentially painful consequences spared, quite a few good memories created along the way. With not much guidance other than a feeling, we both set ourselves on a relationship quest through compliance, control and protection as if it were the only way to make each other happy.
At least one of us , more or less consciously, was re-arranging personal space to accommodate it’s mate, mostly motivated by fear of not being able to keep the treasure found in each other’s company – as if staying true to own being was of no value or significance. And only if we knew what that meant. Unnoticeably, we neglected – I guess – what might have been important to us individually and ended up getting what we “wanted” and not necessary what we “needed”. In my case, most of my “wants” were satisfied almost immediately through thoughtfulness that only money could buy, and in quite charming and romantic ways.
Fulfilment of my whims was suspending a display of undeniable truth boiling underneath all the layers…. During those years, I was endlessly on a look out for a place which I could call ‘home’. I wondered like a cat, trying to find the most comfortable spot only to learn that it would not be it, again. Instead, a routine driven way of being provided predictability and safety. My attempts to break old habits, were followed by periods of resignation until the discomfort again reached a peak and would motivate me to try once more. Tired and bored of my own inertia, trapped in guilt with fear omnipresent I saw my dreams more and more diluted and distant…
When, I finally found a place, where I felt as close to home as I had ever felt before, I got ‘transplanted’ away, again.