I've never been a big fan of lace. It seems so pretentious and busy. It makes a statement on any garment and is obnoxiously assertive. When I was searching for a wedding dress I made to sure to avoid all dresses that had lace.
Lace is fragile and transparent. When wearing lace, I often feel like it is mocking my solid frame: pointing out my inability to rise to the daintiness and elegance of its delicate construction.
My wedding dress was somewhat simple, adorned with a little embroidery and beading. After 13 years of marriage there is still not much lace in my wardrobe.
This year, more than ever, marks a change for Aleks and I. It seems we've entered a new season in our marriage. Both our kids are in school all day. For the first time since we've been married, we no longer work at the same place. We've been settled in the same city and house for 5 1/2 years, the longest stretch thus far.
For so long, we've been pushing, pushing, pushing to survive. Getting jobs, enduring the trenches of parenthood with kids who are 17 months apart, applying for tenure, the list goes on. And while we are still moving forward and working toward the next upward step, our lives now have some white space.
White space is a metaphor used in businesses about opportunity. In our marriage, this white space means we suddenly have time and energy to see each other clearly without the immediate stresses of financial strain and young children. We see opportunities to redefine our relationship and to question the habitual way we communicate with each other. Inevitably we are confronted with the people we have become over the past 13 years. And because we are different people now, how we fit together is affected.
You'd think after 13 years together, marriage would get easier.
Don't get me wrong, some things are way easier. Like grocery shopping together. I remember in the first year of marriage, the majority of our fights would take place in the grocery store or immediately after a shopping trip. Managing a house together is easier. Asking for help is easier.
Strangely enough, saying what we want seems to be more difficult for us both.
I'm learning that being uncomfortable leads to change. I'm so lucky and grateful to be partnered with someone who wants to become a better version of himself. When things get uncomfortable, Aleks is willing to lean into that discomfort and figure out the root of the problem. He doesn't turn away, which is the safe and easy thing to do.
We choose every day to be better, as individuals and together.
When I think of lace, I picture the intricate details of fabric that are connected by strands and when I think of it that way, it seems frivolous and unnecessary. But, if I think of the spaces, the empty places, where something was taken away, what is left seems extraordinary. And those small connecting strands are no longer fussy, but essential to the entire structure and beauty.
Our marriage started out as a blank sheet. Over the past thirteen years we've put holes into that sheet. Sometimes on purpose, with adjustments in communication and purposeful interactions. Sometimes it has happened accidentally with a harsh word or thoughtless remarks. When I step back, I don't see a damaged product. Rather, I see something beautiful emerging; the holes have left intricate patterns, and the strands holding them are indestructible.
Maybe lace for the 13th year is more appropriate than I thought.
Happy anniversary my darling. Endlessly grateful you are my partner and excited for what life has in store for us next.
(Not quite 13 years ago, but almost)
