The Playa From the Himalaya, The Yeti, records his observation of a first date. He has a remarkable eye for detail when it comes to human interaction. I sometimes wonder if he has ever considered pursuing a career in the interesting and lucrative world of counter-intelligence, and, if so, would he mind terribly if I hope that he chooses to work for my side.
His future in espionage and snappy prose style aside, I was struck by my first though upon finishing his observations.
Man, I wouldn't be single again for anything.
When I say this, I don't wish to insult my unmarried friends, or my friends that are not in a committed long-term relationship of some other kind. I am only saying that the years of my life before marriage are not ones I look back upon with whistful memories or nostalgia.
I am pretty sure that Mrs. E. Poet would concur, and would be inclined to feel a modicum of relief at my saying so. She, though, is in a better position than anyone to know why I am not good at being single. A large part of it is my particular brain chemistry (for an explanation of that, you have to go waaaaaaaaaay back to the early days of the journal).
Another large protion of the equation is that, as surprising as this may sound coming from an anonymous writer, I am a rather shy person. Performance is different than social or personal interaction, which is why I never had trouble taking the stage as a musician. Cast into a social event, I am like a bottle cast into the sea. There is something interesting on the inside, but you have to retrieve it and get it out. I am not one of those people that has a fear of solitude, and I generally prefer to take meals alone when I am not with my family. Consequently, should I not have been discovered and brought out of my shell at a strategic moment, I would likely be not just unmarried, but the stereotypical bachelor, eating Spam directly from the tin whilst standing at the kitchen sink in my black socks and unmentionables.
Fortunately, though, this is not the case. I am conjoined, spiritually, emotionally, and contractually, to someone whom I admire more than any other person I know. She has many qualities that I wish I could emulate more myself, and the simple fact that she has not only kept hearth and home intact in my absense (6 months now, give or take a few days), but has handled our finances and a few additional difficulties, of which the details are not germaine to this discussion, more effectively than I would have myself.
My particular line of work requires a great deal of patience from her. Suppose your spouse, partner, or other significant person came home from work every night, and they were unable to tell you any details about their workday. Now suppose that this went on for years. She asks how my day was, and I tell her it was fine, or it was frustrating, or it was uneventful. She asks a few questions, and I answer her with a completely unrelated observation, such as, "The day was unseasonably warm for this time of year." She knows that this is an indication that it is time to shift the topic to something else. Would you find this frustrating? She does, too, and yet she accepts it as the nature of my work. It was not, for the record, the line of work I was in before marriage, so it is something she has had to adjust to after years of open communication.
I have a personal custom. When I see people out here that could use a lift, I share some things I keep in my "private collection" of things from home; some particular sweets, or books, or such things that seem to cheer people up. Generally speaking, it lifts my spirits as well. When I am feeling low myself, I talk about Mrs. E. Poet, and our poetlings. When I do, I am reminded of just how fine my life really is.