It comes up. So this is a post about what I love about my wife. Because in the moment, it can be hard to articulate deeply felt things.
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– She surprises me, in ways that are delightful and that leave me utterly breathless and ecstatic
– She is shockingly competent, in ways that don’t overlap at all with my own brand of competence
– She feels things as deeply as I do, but in ways that are foreign to me—addictive to a feelings junkie
– She doesn’t realize which things about her are most alluring (not sure why this is attractive but it is)
– There is fury and power behind her convictions; I respect her in ways that I don’t respect many
– She actually has convictions, even if she is not always aware of them (but who is?)
– She is as gentle as a baby’s touch and as powerful as the midnight sky over a plains thunderstorm
– She cares, deeply; she cares, she cares, she cares, she cares
– She is different, an individual, unique; she is fully realized as a (stunning and complex) character
– She is pretty and sexy as f**k, the woman in the room that makes the other women want to go home
– She is kind underneath it all, even if this kindness is so harrowing for her that she sometimes hides it
– She is funny without trying, not a joker or a comedian, but someone with an actual sense of humor
– She has a sudden enthusiasm that is utterly, incorruptibly genuine, electric, and endearing
– She is not self-absorbed or conceited about any of this; I tend to believe even that she is unaware
– She is uniquely flawed as are all of the best people, but always manages to transcend her flaws
– Somehow in all of this, she is as deceptively delicate as a child’s first memories of spring
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I love her because I’ve never met anyone else like her and because she has the unique capacity to cause me to me see things in utterly new and beautiful ways that I’d never considered before, or even been capable of considering.
Being around her is like being born and meeting the world for the first time—over and over again. Each time beautiful, thrilling, terrifying, bewildering, and also—true and right and utterly, utterly fulfilling.
Unlike some men, I don’t love my wife because she makes me feel taken care of, or safe, or because she makes life easier. (Sometimes she does, and she very much wants to, but as a man and as a person, I am not always attuned to such things, and she is not always attuned to them either, despite the pressure that she puts on her self to be so.)
I love my wife because she forces me—and life itself—to grow, again and again, into something(s) more and different than I ever imagined self and life could or would be. I love my wife not because she makes life easier, but because she makes life more worth living.