A Love that is Grey

Part 1

My husband likes to plan. His mind is logical and calculated. It is thoughtful and prepared. He time blocks his day, planning everything out, minute by minute, on neatly laid out spreadsheets. It’s become second nature to him at this point. Every Sunday, sitting at his desk, click-clacking away on his laptop, coffee going cold. Every second accounted for. He plans his week and reviews the plan every day; a sacred ritual that he has perfected over the years.

We’ve been married seven years. They say that marriage means to compromise, and I really thought that was true. But marriage to him is to conform to his plans, his structure and his meticulous nature. I love him, I do. I just wish for spontaneity and adventure. To escape the mundane of our every day. He’s a great husband really. He takes care of us and works hard. He’s on track with his carefully crafted career and has plans to move into higher roles. He schedules in time to spend with myself and our two children, even makes notes on things to talk to us about. It’s most unfortunate that our relationship feels dull and grey, whilst I long for the excitement of yellow and bright orange, of rose-tinted glasses and red-hot desire that knows no bounds.

He clings to his plans, like a child clinging onto the skirt of their mother. A slight change of plans is disastrous and overwhelmingly stressful. It means to recalculate, reassess and review. To decide the next course of action immediately, and to write a note for the future, to create a back-up plan for next time. Why is this your complaint? You may wonder. It’s all good and well and wonderful to be prepared.

It’s just that…I am the exact opposite. I go with the flow of the river, and wherever the breeze of the wind takes me. I adapt, I change, I accept. I live for the joys of adventure, travelling upon a winding path, with twists and turns, anticipating the excitement of what is to come.

I long for passion in our marriage. A little bit of fun. To fool around as young lovers do. Stolen kisses. Spontaneous dates.

Forgive my ingratitude. I know that I am a part of his plans, but I don’t want to be just that. I want to be more than just a duty for him to fulfil. I don’t want to be another tick off his list. I want to be the light bouncing off his eyes. A dancing star in his universe. I love him, I do.

Part 2

I wake up on Sunday morning at six. I go down and boil the kettle and pour my instant coffee sachet into my mug. I sit at my desk, log into my laptop, and open Excel. The plans for the week are my top priority. I review the previous week; what went well and what we could do better. Failure to plan is to plan to fail, I mutter to myself. I must not fail.

I have high expectations for myself and my family. We will not fail. I will not fail them. I plan and plan, not a minute will be wasted. This week is filled with meetings, and two reports are due. I will not fail. I type into my timetable what I will do and when I will do it. I’ll have to spend less time with my wife and the children this week. I can fit in some family time on Friday evening, once everything has been submitted. I hate to do this to them, but I am doing this for them. I love them, I do.

My father was a strict man. I got home late once, after school. I’d missed the bus. He clobbered me for it. Apparently, it would take someone really thick not to check the bus schedules for the day. I watched him as I grew, and learned that to be successful, I must plan to perfection. I made mistakes of course, and I was taught lessons for it. I became quick, prepared and did not step out of line. If I did, I was taught a lesson. The need for perfection became ingrained in me. I am not a particularly religious man, but planning became my Sunday ritual. I craved success and feared failure. I would do anything to avoid the latter. I desired success in education, success in my career, my marriage and my family life. I become more successful every day as I continue to plan and pursue. However, I am not quite there yet.

I love my wife, but the light that once was in her eyes, seems to have dimmed. I observe her actions, and tread carefully. I think about my plans to make her happy, to give her the life that she deserves. I can’t see where I am going wrong. I schedule in time for her, and make sure that everything has been thought of. I never want her to have a moment of worry. I take on the burdens so that she does not have to. I plan and plan and plan, to the best of my ability. So why does it feel like I am failing? What is it that I am missing?

I want to be the steady beat of her heart. The strong arm to lean on. I want her to see that I am willing to do what it takes. That I will hold to account every second of the day to bring safety and security into her life. I don’t plan to fail. I want her to know that I am here to shoulder her pain. To shield her from the unexpected, the torrent of rain.

I will not be like my father. I will make time for love, our family and our joy. I plan to do this always, to give us the best chance of success and happiness in our lives.

So, what am I doing wrong? Is there something in my plans that I have overlooked? What is it that steals her joy? What secrets are hidden behind her smile? I don’t know how to fix this. I love her, I do.