The Stranger I Married: The UnDisney Side of It All

If you read this post then you know that I found it humorous, the things I didn't know about the man I am married to. But I have also been thinking about the other things I don't know, or else no longer know, about him. I love all of him. Each facet of what makes him the man he is. And yet, there are things I don't know. There are things I don't know because time has made us strangers. This may sound wrong, this may sound distant, but it isn't. It is more than that and it is less than that, too. 

We are close; right now, we are closer than we have been in a very long time. We are close because we have poured into the people we have become, these new people with the same faces, though wrinkled some with the weight of the world. Marriage is not the beginning of a life with one person. It is the beginning of a commitment, to love one person with all the that they were, all that they are and all that they will come to be. 

And sometimes that will mean loving someone that is, in some ways, vastly different than the person you said "I do" to. I know this because when I compare my own face in the mirror to the face in the picture that adorns my mantle -the one of a 23 year old girl with the world at her fingertips- I see a stranger. I see someone that I myself am still learning to understand. I had so many questions about who I have become in my late 20s. That meant he had to have questions too right? They were the questions we were too scared to ask. Questions that when finally spoken out loud leave you hanging on to each decibel of speech that follows it.

Life has a way of doing that. Of making you scared to ask the questions that are begging for escape. The ones that whisper in the darkness... 

Are you really ok? Why do we keep waiting? Are you just as scared as I am? Do we want the same things we wanted five years ago? What are your dreams now? Where does life go from here? Where do we? 

Death, birth, trials, joy... they all have a way of chipping away pieces of your heart and adding others into new places. Your heart comes out changed; with holes where there had been beating flesh, mountains where there had been nothing. Pumping to a different rhythm, setting a tune for a new version of who you are from that point forward, until something comes along that will reshape it again. 

And so, in the wake, in the stillness between those moments you work to get to know the stranger you have married. You work to get to know the stranger in the mirror. 

And you get to fall in love -with both of them- all over again.