life – golden clay

Are we all just freaks, trying to connect over the latest report on The Weather Network?

Or maybe some of us are more freaky than others?

We’re pumping ourselves up in the bathroom stall at every party, gearing up for some light banter – and hoping it doesn’t show that we might have a touch of social anxiety.

Sometimes I watch him at social events. He always seems to have something witty to say and I find it fascinating. But I guess he married me because I can bring up the topic of terminal illness while we’re all sipping beer in a hot tub, having a grand old time? It is one of my coolest party tricks.

What was God thinking when He decided to enter into the human experience – attend weddings and go to dinner at other people’s houses – ALL THE TIME?

Willingly choosing to enter into the misunderstanding of it all.

“Everyone struggles,” he always tells me.

That’s why we convene on a riverbank in July, sipping beer and eating chips. There’s the person taking the selfie – half of us are not looking. Someone shares something personal and another person interrupts at exactly the wrong time. We are all working through different things in our minds.

But we come together in misunderstanding.

I have friends who are twins. One has always been the initiator – inviting people over and planning the big events. The other is the noticer – always aware of people on the fringe and ready to bring them into the conversation.

“I want our house to be a place where people feel they can come anytime,” he says the week after we buy our first place. And I know, he’ll be the initiator. I’ll be the noticer. And both will be necessary.

I tell her how I’m giving speeches often now – at Toastmasters. I’m hosting events and speaking on panels, even if my hands shake when I hold the microphone. I’m trying, in spite of myself, to be seen.

And to get past my own internal monologue to see others. Enter into misunderstanding. Carry each other’s burdens. Give the clumsy side hug. Offer up a scattered prayer out loud in the parking lot. Really listen and not know what to say.

And when all else fails, look up from my phone to say hi and talk about the weather.

“If the whole body were an eye, where would be the sense of hearing? If the whole body were an ear, where would be the sense of smell? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be?” 2 Corinthians 12:17-19

I knew life would never be boring if I married him. It would be filled with many wild ideas I would feel the need to veto. But never boring.

I knew this early into dating, when we were exploring abandoned buildings and jumping onto moving trains.

It would be filled with a lot more small talk with strangers and minimal use of the self checkout at the grocery store.

But never boring.

Maybe there would be live lobster to cook and that would freak me out. Maybe there would be spontaneous road trips to the Arctic that would give me preemptive nightmares, but there would not be boredom. `

“We have nothing in common,” we often joke. Also: “We make a good team.”

I love to read. He rarely does. He likes to instigate adventure. I like to expand on it. He likes to buy things. I like to save. He likes to chit chat. I like philosophizing. I overthink some things. He overthinks the other things.

On our two-year anniversary trip, he leans toward me and says, “You just married me to keep life entertaining.” I laugh because it’s partly true.

But I also thought we had old, boring married people potential. The potential for growth. We’d keep the adventure, but cut the drama. Apologize earlier. Forgive easier.

Sure enough. We’re only two years into marriage, but every Sunday after church, we buy groceries at Costco – those dill pickle salads and a bag of apples. Eggs. Greek yoghurt. Fruit. We are faithful to the weekly list.

And many nights, after dinner, we go on a 1.82 km walk in the dark. We talk about what houses we like along the edge of the neighbourhood pond – the one on the edge with the big patio. It’s not very exciting at all, but it’s one of my favourite things.

We still run unplanned half marathons on a Monday and take last minute trips to the Northwest Territories, but we stay home too. We eat the same meals. Watch the same shows. Go to bed at the same time. Assume the best of each other, more often.

I knew life would never be boring if I married him. But now I know, boring moments make some of the best building blocks.

“But we urge you, brothers, to do this more and more, and to aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs.” 1 Thessalonians 4:10b-11a

Tag: life

Old boring people potential