You're not the man I married

When Gary and I first met, he hated me.

We were co-workers, and he thought I was bossy, arrogant and uptight. I remember feeling misunderstood and determined to show him the "real me."

At the time, I was living with someone, and so was he -- his first wife. Eventually, we became friends, and months later -- after he and his wife separated and I was living alone -- we became more.

Gary was unlike anyone I'd ever met. My suburban childhood had never introduced me to an urban cowboy who smoked unfiltered Camels, took me to play pool and kissed me in cars while night turned into morning.

I was a Jewish princess -- spoiled, materialistic, waiting for life to shower me with all the gifts I deserved: a good job, a loving partner, a cleaning woman once a week.

We were too different and agreed that our relationship would never last. And yet, we are now celebrating our eighth anniversary, and our 12th year happily living together.

We've both changed in so many ways since we married, and not necessarily in ways I would have predicted or planned.

On the outside, Gary's hair has gone from short to long (mine has gone from long to short and back again many times). We've both gained a marital middle -- at least 15 pounds of it each. And we've grown more prone to complain about our backs, our creaky bones and everything in between.

On the inside, life has left its mark. My father died; Gary's parents have aged. I've grown closer to my sister; he's grown more distant from his siblings. And while time has become more scarce, I have turned to books and writing; he has turned increasingly to others.

We have become parents, moved twice and changed jobs several times.

Through it all, we have grown closer and more distant.

Sometimes I wonder, where is the independent spirit I loved and married? Then I remember. He's in our son's bedroom, making sure Colter has the right T-shirt for school spirit day. He's making breakfast. He's checking his e-mail.

And I worry. Have I broken this cowboy, domesticated him, without knowing it?

Or was I the one who changed? Maybe his sense of serendipity, his free-thinking, his fun remained, but had rubbed off on me so much that I wanted more of it than I used to.

See, I'm not the woman Gary married, either. On balance, that's a good thing. Gary has been the best possible influence on me.

I'm more patient, more frugal and more flexible because of him. And though before we married I would have hoped to become more like him in other ways over the years, he's helped me instead to be more like myself.

Gary has always given me the push I need to grow into my own skin, especially when I least want to be nudged but most need it. And I have done the same for him, I hope. Which I guess explains why we have left so much change in our wake.

And yet, the foundation of our relationship remains the same: we talk. About Colter's homework, about what's for dinner, about our future. Love for him creeps into these mundane minutes, and into memories I didn't know I had, and it fills me.

I am grateful for every unexpected moment of our marriage. And especially for the possibilities they present. Like this: maybe, for our anniversary, we'll get a babysitter and spend the evening kissing in the car until the sun comes up.

This LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.

Comments

[Marcia Lynx Qualey]

When my husband and I first met, it was in a job interview. Fortunately, I hired him, although I came to think of him as my most annoying employee. He was always telling stupid jokes in staff meetings, being a know-it-all over e-mail and a crusty old man to the sales force. Usually, when I tell our story, I make it simple, "The Lady Doth Protest (someone's bad jokes) Too Much." But in truth, I really didn't like him. And then, those things I didn't like--his humor, his sloppiness, his inflexible morality--are now the things I love the most. Our marriage certainly has its rocky parts, as we're very different people. But it's also a hell of a lot more interesting than if I'd married someone more like me.

[Amber]

aawww!