Three weird things I learned about love in 25 years of marriage

Reading time: 5 minutes

Here’s a picture of me and Harry learning how to stay married in French Polynesia. Not shown: A million small actions every day.

On August 5 Harry and I celebrated 25 years of marriage! Twenty-five years is a short time in comparison to so many others. My mom and dad just celebrated 54 years. I have friends who have been married more than 40 years. These are dizzying spans of time.

But what is time? Twenty-five years of marriage is a series of days and hours, a series of choices one after the other, a long string of small actions that add up, unbelievably, to a quarter of a century.

Here’s what 25 years of marriage has taught me about love:

1. LOVE DOESN’T ALWAYS LOOK LIKE LOVE

Sometimes love looks like fear. Or anger. Love can wear a masquerade of anxiety or sadness. Love can look like control (which is actually—and I hate to say this—fear).

Love doesn’t always look like love because we are all still growing up. We’re still maturing emotionally. We don’t always know how to express what we’re feeling. It takes a lot of effort and awareness to see through the layers of emotion that might come up in an intense moment, and identify the foundation as “love”.

At some point when Harry returns from playing pickleball with a limp, I’ll be tuned in enough to say, “I’m sorry you’ve injured yourself. How can I help?” instead of shouting “You shouldn’t be playing pickleball with a bad knee! What are you thinking?!” I strive to show simply love, instead of love masquerading as fear.

2. LOVE IS A CHOICE

Within the first five years of our marriage I realized that long-term loving required a deliberate, conscious choice. There is a time in all relationships when the propulsive thrill of early love has tamed, and the dependable, consistent work of commitment settles in. What used to be effortless autopilot now requires a steady, intentional hand at the wheel.

Choosing to love Harry shows up in big and small ways:

• I choose to be blind to the myriad tiny annoyances that come from living with the same person for 25+ years. I don’t dwell on Harry’s apparent inability to put his coffee grounds in the compost every day. I just put them in the compost myself and move on. It’s a choice.

• When I feel male attraction beaming in my direction from someone other than Harry, I choose to redirect or ignore it. I choose to not welcome that energy.

• I move through the world with my own magnet for sexual attraction shut down, reserved for Harry. That’s a choice.

• I choose to see the impressive capabilities of my husband. I choose to tell others about the cool things he does. I choose to brag about him.

• When Harry tells me what he feels, I try to choose to believe him. I try not to disagree (“How can you feel that way?”) or change his feelings to suit mine. This is harder than it should be, but I am getting better at it.

3. LOVE IS A MILLION SMALL ACTIONS EVERY DAY

A long-term marriage is the proving ground for actions speaking louder than words. The truth cannot hide here. Every day is an opportunity for actions to say either “I love you” or “You’re not important to me.”

These small actions become an energy of their own. If it’s love energy, then it grows and compounds and expands and can be the glue in the relationship. If it’s not love energy, the same thing happens, but with the opposite outcome: everything splinters apart.

Here are some of the ways I’ve noticed Harry and I show our love in small actions every day:

• Harry avoids being in the kitchen when I return from my morning swim so I can make my breakfast without delay

• When we went to the theater to see the movie “A Complete Unknown”, the Bob Dylan biopic, Harry brought ear plugs for me because he knows how sensitive I am to sound

• We ask each other’s opinion. “What did you think of that episode?” after a show, or “How should I talk to my co-workers about this issue?”

• When we’re in the car together, Harry drives the route through town that I prefer, even though it’s not the route he would choose. I do the same thing when I’m driving us somewhere. We don’t mention this to each other; we just do it.

• We have a long hug every morning no matter what

• Harry encourages the kitty to sit with me because he knows how much I love it when she sits with me, even though he’s also delighted that she prefers his lap

• When we’re together I choose music that I think he’ll enjoy

• If I’m working or reading and Harry starts to talk to me, I put down what I’m doing and look at him

• Even though he won’t be there, Harry studies the route I’ll swim in the round-island relay and offers instructions to my kayaker for keeping me safe

• When Harry asks me if I have a plan for dinner, the first thing I say is “Yes!” because I want him to feel safe asking that question

Twenty-five years of marriage has taught me a lot. But there’s still so much room to grow. It seems like emotional growth is a bridge over a moat at a castle. If you can figure out how to get the bridge to come down, you get access to the whole emotional castle. You get to avoid the devastating moat. But what’s the key to getting the bridge to come down?

Maybe it’s self-awareness, or therapy, or talking to friends about relationship stuff. Maybe it’s reading books or the Internet or Instagrammers on relationships. Maybe it’s sharing adventures with your partner, or going through hard times together. I dunno. I’m trying all of the above. Will report back in 25 years.

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