A witness to my life

- Why do people marry?

- Out of passion?

- No, we marry because we need a witness to our life.

It’s Susan Sarandon asking Richard Jenkins. In a movie. A stupid rom-com. Not that stupid actually, it’s quiet sweet. Shall We Dance? is the story about John Clark (Richard Gere), who is happily married, has a wonderful family and a good life. When he realizes ball room dancing makes him tick he keeps it secret from his wife (Susan Sarandon), who hires a PD (Richard Jenkins) when her husband starts acting out of character. She finds out his new passion, and the dialogue above takes place when the wife and the PD get philosophical about marriage and life.

I have been single now for fifteen years. After the initial spinning in the chaotic centrifuge of grief, disappointment, anger, missing, blame, relief, despair, acceptance, remorse, shame, curiosity, guilt, hope and loneliness I landed in an open space. There was more room for me. To spread my wings, to fill my lungs. To not hold back. To be more of me.

Some years later it was time for my sons to spread their wings and move away from our family house. The empty nest syndrome struck hard on me. I grieved for months. I was surprised, I didn’t see that reaction coming. I am a very self centered person and my projects, whatever they have been, were as much my babies as those I carried in my womb. I did often feel restricted by family matters. Couldn’t wait until I was out on a story again, in the darkroom, at my sewing machine, my special note book on my lap working on some lyrics, looking through the lens of my Rolliflex or sitting at the piano fiddling on a song. Not that I didn’t love my family, of course I did, more than anything, coming home to the safe family cave was my warm heart. But nevertheless.

Therefore, it came as a slight shock how empty the house was when only me there. What used to be a precious time, husband and kids temporarily gone somewhere, became an endless stretch of deserted rooms. They were all gone and wouldn’t come back. It was quite hard to grasp. Teens come and go. You have both. But computers and music instruments gone. Then you know there is no way back. I came around eventually. It took me some time, but I came around.

In the separation centrifuge I noticed one unexpected loss that would change my life and me forever. Spontaneity. I am someone who likes to share whatever is going on with me. Coming home from work the first thing I did opening the front door was telling my husband everything about the day. I ran everything by him. I read my texts to him or had him read them. I told my synopsis, I asked him up to the dark room checking what B&W copy I would go for. I told him every single idea coming up in my head. I let him hear the harmonies for a new song or tried out different words in the lyrics. God how I miss that!

I didn’t do all this out of insecurity or to get validation or to be confirmed. I most always know what I am going for and am focused getting there. No, I did it because my husband was my best friend. He was the one I wanted to share with. Work, friends, hardships, happiness, problems, and simply daily ordinary life. I modeled outfits for parties and I sang him the choice of songs for funerals. Most everything that was in me was shared with my allied in life. Well, I had my secret closets, but most things were out in the light.

Coming home from work to a quiet house made me silent. Sure, I could call someone up, but it takes an active action. You need the right person, you need to get hold of that person, you need the person to be available and in the right mood, you need… and the moment is gone. The moment is gone and your day is taken care of by yourself only. Stays quiet in your body. Good and bad energy stuck. Yes, the spontaneity was gone.

I learned to keep my life in my body instead of letting it out in the world. I do feel more mature that way. More like a grown up. Behaving well. But it’s not me. It’s not what I want. And it’s not serving me well. I am not cut out for talking to myself, feeling that’s enough for me.

- We marry because we need a witness to our life.

That line stayed with me. Wow. Of course. It totally reasoned with me. I don’t know if that’s why we are marrying, but I think it’s a good reason for it. 

As an (over)-sharing person, I am transparent. I am see through. And in the same token obvious and distinct. But with no one there to see me I turn invisible. With no one witnessing my life, I fade away.

When I wake up in the morning I talk to my bedroom ceiling and the maple outside my window. I tell them what I know about the day ahead. Facts, joys and worries. In the evening I am closing my day with my journal. Summing it up in facts, joys, worries and gratitude. The maple changes with the seasons. Winter-bare, snow-heavy, light and sheer, dark summer green and autumn leaves. “Good morning world, it’s Saturday and the wind is playing in my summer green trees. Good morning world, it’s Tuesday and my winter bare trees are grey from clouds. Good morning world, it’s Friday and the sun is reflecting in my snow heavy trees.” The maple and my white stained fur ceiling are patient listeners.

The open space I landed in after the spinning centrifuge eventually turned vast. Vast and wide. It wasn’t a comfortable place anymore. And solitude transformed to loneliness.

A different movie dialogue is coming up in my mind. Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford are on a brake in The Way We Were. This time Hubbel has ended the relationship and Katie is heartbroken. In despair she calls Hubbel up. He reluctantly listens to her as she is wiping her tears, saying something along these lines:

- Please, I need to talk to my best friend about my best friend.

I need to take a deep breath here. I have been there. I have made that call. Losing your best friend, by choice or not, is one of the most painful things to experience. That void. You might think you yourself is enough. But without anyone there seeing you, witnessing you as you are, sun moon and down to your molecules, who are you? Are you?

- Why do people marry?

- Out of passion?

- No, we marry because we need a witness to our life

This I am pondering on a lovely summer weekend as my life companion of 37 years is marrying. The very same lovely Saturday week as he and I married 33 years ago.