A good marriage is that in which each appoints the other guardian of his solitude.
- Rainer Maria Rilke
Fourteen years ago today Michael and I were married in New York City. We spent a week in New York and then returned to Steens Mountain in Oregon for the second week of our honeymoon, adding a few impromptu days in Reno before heading home to what was to be, quite honestly, a trying first year of marriage. Not because of us, but due to outside forces that came from left field and that we were then emotionally ill-equipped to deal with. But we really fought for our marriage during those strenuously heart-wrenching and venomous months, even consulting my longtime family doctor who referred us on to a wonderful psychologist.
We met with Paula, the psychologist, separately at first, then pulled it all back together in joint sessions for about six weeks. Mike had the first session with her, since we were primarily coping with people and events originating from his family and employment situation. (I'll add here: thank God for my mother and the support she gave to us that year.) When my turn came to meet with Paula the first words she spoke to me were: Do you realize how much he loves you?
I do. Those were the words I said during the short civil ceremony inside New York's Municipal Building 14 years ago. They were also the words I used to answer Paula's question some months later.
I do know that Mike loves me because he understands my need for solitude, which is greater than his own. When I first shared the above Rilke quote with him it went against how he'd been raised to think of marriage, but he gets it now. I appreciate that he is not only the guardian of my solitude, but as the years have gone by he has begun thanking me for being the guardian of his solitude. Of course that is only one aspect of our marriage, albeit a treasured one. I've isolated it for this post because it's what surfaced as I considered what I might write about for this anniversary to accompany these photos from our honeymoon.
Here we are at Kiger Gorge and Honeymoon Lake on a windy but beautiful September day on Steens Mountain, elevation 9700'. I'd vacationed alone at Steens in years before meeting Mike - and Honeymoon Lake had always been bone dry. That it was sparkling with bitter-cold clear water was simply astonishing to me, and we took it as a good omen that we'd be ok when we returned to the real world of shit, systems, and strife. Believe in omens? I do.
We met with Paula, the psychologist, separately at first, then pulled it all back together in joint sessions for about six weeks. Mike had the first session with her, since we were primarily coping with people and events originating from his family and employment situation. (I'll add here: thank God for my mother and the support she gave to us that year.) When my turn came to meet with Paula the first words she spoke to me were: Do you realize how much he loves you?
I do. Those were the words I said during the short civil ceremony inside New York's Municipal Building 14 years ago. They were also the words I used to answer Paula's question some months later.
I do know that Mike loves me because he understands my need for solitude, which is greater than his own. When I first shared the above Rilke quote with him it went against how he'd been raised to think of marriage, but he gets it now. I appreciate that he is not only the guardian of my solitude, but as the years have gone by he has begun thanking me for being the guardian of his solitude. Of course that is only one aspect of our marriage, albeit a treasured one. I've isolated it for this post because it's what surfaced as I considered what I might write about for this anniversary to accompany these photos from our honeymoon.
Here we are at Kiger Gorge and Honeymoon Lake on a windy but beautiful September day on Steens Mountain, elevation 9700'. I'd vacationed alone at Steens in years before meeting Mike - and Honeymoon Lake had always been bone dry. That it was sparkling with bitter-cold clear water was simply astonishing to me, and we took it as a good omen that we'd be ok when we returned to the real world of shit, systems, and strife. Believe in omens? I do.
*Ta-Da
Of Turkish-Italian Origin. Phrase created to express a timeless, synchronistic love; written in stone and greater than love in any form. Soulmate.
You will always be my "Ta-Da" or Finding "Ta-Da" transcends all rituals and conclusions. It is an unending, complex, intimate dance together and nothing matters more than your own sense of balance and your choice of partner.
-via Urban Dictionary
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