Present Over Perfect

themselves when there’s an expanse of distance in a
marriage, when there’s a vulnerability. So we talked about
our marriage, over the years, and our vulnerabilities.
We talked about what had happened to create our most
fragile seasons, and what repaired them. We talked about
the kinds of people and personalities and attention that we
might find ourselves vulnerable to, if we weren’t careful.
We apologized to one another for the things we did, over
the years, to allow distance to stretch; and we talked about
what shores up that distance, what ways of living and
interacting help us connect in deep ways, keep the
vulnerabilities from growing too great.
I never imagined that you could talk about those things
in a marriage. I almost can’t believe we did, as we inched
our way over the locks, water rushing under our feet, low,
gray sky above us.
The trip was romantic and silly and sweet—we rode a
Ferris wheel and held hands. We slept in and had a great
dinner with friends. But that conversation on the locks:
that’s the heart of marriage. That was the stuff, I think, that
we’re usually afraid to say out loud but loses its power once
you share it. We talked about what we’re afraid of, what we
want for our lives, together and separately, who we fear we
could become if we’re not careful.
So there was wine and romance and a fancy hotel, but
what mattered most was a cold, gray walk across the locks,
saying the things you never say, taking the power out of
them, and making us stronger.