Things don’t always turn out the way you imagined, nor are they often the way you think they are.

I remember daydreaming about the future when I was younger. I never dreamt about being married, yet I always saw myself in a relationship. Mostly I ‘saw’ the same image: a long couch, my beau sitting on one end reading a book, me on the other side doing the same. Our legs extended towards the middle of the couch, crossing with the other’s. Once in a while we’d share what we just read.

Hubby doesn’t read books. He reads news papers, travel-,woodworking-, financial-magazines. And yes sometimes we are both reading at the same time, and yes often we share what we are reading. Due to the layout of our family room, the sectional couch has been replaced by a love seat and a full couch. We mostly don’t share couches, it’s not comfy.

So, my fantasy hasn’t quite come true but close enough. One thing that I never imagined was both of us writing. Hubby isn’t into writing, although when he has to, he’s very good at it. And he doesn’t read everything I write. When I ask him to, he will. But he rarely does so out of his own accord.

I used to have expectations around it. “If he loved me, he would be interested” , “if he were interested, he’d devour every line I write” or “Since writing is such a big part of my life, he needs to be interested in it, for if he isn’t then…….. “ .

We did have a conversation about this a few years back:
“But I am interested and I do like your writing”, he insisted.
“No you are not.” I responded.
“Ok, so what you are saying is that in order for me to be interested, I have to fulfill your expectation of what that looks like? How would you like me to react differently next time so that you recognise that I’m interested?”
I didn’t quite get his point and left it at him not getting mine either.

A few weeks later he was working in the garage on a table.
“Love, can you come see what I’ve done? The legs are finished!”
“I’m in the middle of something!”
“What are you doing?”
“Folding socks”.
So it toddled to the garage.
“Very nice” I said.
“See, here’s what I had to do. See that piece of wood over there? That’s what I started out from. First I had to feed it through the plainer until I got it to the right thickness. Then through the jointer, it was tough for it’s hard wood. See how the legs are tapered. I did all that with the table saw”.
“Good work dear! Looks very good. Anything else?”
I was eager to get back to something else more interesting.
“What do you think, which router bit should I use for the edge of the table?”
“Whatever you think is best, it’s your table project”.
“Check out the suggestions made here on these photos, which one?”
I was already somewhere else in thought and didn’t answer.
“You are not in the least bit interested!”
“Yes I am”. I tried to save his feelings.
“No you are not, I can see it. Guess you don’t love me. Or maybe we aren’t made for each other.”
I was about to protest loudly, when I saw his eyes giving his approaching grin away.

I still sometimes wish he’d be completely passionate about everything I’m passionate about. But since that woodworking experience, I know I can’t live up to that tall order myself. I understand his interest in what I do, his interest which he shows, because it’s me, and because he loves me. I understand that this interest cannot be compared to the passion I feel about my writing. Plus having two writers in the house would drive me insane.

I remember my mother often complaining about my father not taking her artsy side or her opinions seriously. I also remember hearing my Dad sooner or later talking to his friends about my mother, the cool things she did, how talented she was. Or her ‘ridiculous’ opinion about something magically became ‘his’ opinion. He’d never admit it. But hearing my father talk about my mother in public, I knew he not only loved her but also what she did. Not her way, but his way.

While getting ready for work the other morning, Hubby says:
“Oh – Michelle (colleague at his work) thinks your writing is great.”
“Why would she say that, she hasn’t read anything of mine.”
“Oh, she did. I showed her your blog.”

Turns out, most of his office knows about my blog.


~ by spasmicallyperfect on June 28, 2008.

8 Responses to “Things don’t always turn out the way you imagined, nor are they often the way you think they are.”

  1. Keep him.

    I’m planning on it. 🙂

  2. “Plus having two writers in the house would drive me insane.”

    You have this right.

    Oh-oh, any experiences? I just went from imagination and that alone gave me nightmares. 😉

  3. Brought a tear to my eyes.


  4. Yup, he loves you!

    My hubby and I used to fight about things like how long was proper to breastfeed babies and such. I became a La Leche League (LLL) leader for a few years and went to work helping other women breastfeed their babies. His eyes would glaze over any time I started talking and he eventually quit trying to change my opinion because I had scads of information and studies to back my points.

    I always thought I just wore him down, but imagine my surprise when he would give female co-workers breastfeeding advice and it was all the right information, complete with “contact LLL, they can be really helpful!” lol


    Cool story to back up how ‘wacky’ men work some times…… it would be so much easier to just say ‘yes and amen’ to us wouldn’t it? ;-

  5. When my wife reads my stuff she just declares that I am one sick puppy. But she has known that for a long time.

    A smart woman 😉

  6. I loved the moral of this story – that people will love you in their way, no matter what we may think the way it ought to be. Obviously, he loves you and you know he loves you too. And yeah, two writers in one house could be a tough combo.

    Gosh, is the moral really that loud? Well, guess I’m one of those ‘moral apostles’ . ;-)…..

  7. i appreciate this post so much. It made me think this thought: We often think we’re not getting what we want because it’s not how we want it, but we are still getting what we want!

    How great is that?!

    i used to really feel sad about my husband’s seeming lack of interest in my writing until one day, when he brought me a present- a beautiful journal.

    i put it on top of several journals he’d given me. And then there were the fat mechanical pencils i had to have and lead, binders, all kinds of books on writerly stuff, writers’ devotionals and on and on that he’d brought home without being asked. So even if he didn’t gush, he was absolutely supporting me the entire time.

    Sounds like we’re lucky ladies. 🙂

    Ah, yes, seems you’re someone who gets what I was writing about. Funny thing is, in many ways I wouldn’t want it any different. Think it would get boring if it were. Cheers S.

  8. Well Done…and no one – Friend, Lover, Partner or Spouse can pay attention or understand all the details of our lives…My Angel – The Wonderful Woman I Love, does not understand my poetry, but she does love that I write it…and that’s enough…No one is everything to anyone and that’s the natural and proper order of things…thanks for the post and for making me think…

    Glad you have your angel. And thanks for stopping by, glad to be of service 😉 .

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