After 13 years of marriage, I am always surprised when I learn something new about my husband or when he lends some insight into who I am. He knows be better than anyone. It happens in random spurts and when I least expect it. A couple of months ago, after years of riding on carousels with our kids, he informed me that he absolutely hates carousels and always has. This would have been helpful information to know when the kids were begging to ride on one and I thought he was avoiding it because he was being a cheap asshole.
This weekend we spent some time at Fisherman’s Wharf, saw a game in Oakland and did some driving/drinking in Sonoma. He drove, I drank. Wine country was my favorite. After two tastings, a shot of sherry and a full glass of Pinot Grigio, I turned into Chatty Cathy and my husband and I began talking work and life purpose. He shared, I shared and then it happened. I told him how much I love writing, but how I’m losing passion because I don’t have the thousands of people I wish I had reading my blog every day. I have a problem with patience. I compare myself to other writers. I see someone else doing it and I’m sure that since they’ve done it, there is nothing left for me to do. It’s all down hill from there. Here is what my husband said “You give up way too easily. I see it with so many things you do and I don’t understand it. You are an amazing writer so why would you give up now?’ It was hard to hear because it was true. I lacked a trait. Perseverance. I’ve seen the billboard with some famous person on it and under their face, in gigantic letters, PERSEVERANCE Pass It On. No one passed it on to me.
I don’t remember ever feeling that I could persevere. If I wasn’t good at something right away, I was done. If I wasn’t as good as someone else, I was done. I tried sewing and if what I made didn’t look my mom’s, who had been sewing for a couple decades, I decided I wasn’t good at it. I tried debate class and there was someone who was better at it, so I quit. Then there was massage, which I was good at but never gave myself enough time to be the best at, so I stopped. My life has been pocked by one unaccomplished goal after another. I thought I wasn’t funny because my husband said he was. There couldn’t possibly be two funny people in one marriage. This sounds fucking weird, but I hid my sense of humor for many years because I felt that I couldn’t compete with someone who proclaimed they were ‘the funny one’.
This time, I am not giving up. I am learning perseverance. I’m researching the shit out of it, living it and passing it on. I have too many amazing humans in my life who see something great in me even when I don’t. Thank god for that. When I don’t want to write or update my blog, my husband nudges me until I’m so annoyed that I do it out of complete fucking irritation. When I am sure someone else is better at humor writing, my mom reads my blog and tells me that she has never read anything better. Ever. My daughter tells me weekly that she is proud of me and that she can’t wait to be 18 so she can read my blog. For them, and one day for myself, I persevere.