Living An Extreme Lifestyle

I was written to by someone I knew a hundred years ago when I was a teenager. He said he didn't mean it as a criticism, but he thought I was controlled by my extreme emotions. At first I thought he did mean to criticize me, but had qualified it, so I would not retaliate in writing using words to get back at him. But then I realized since he and I had never had an actual conversation as adults, he had no idea who I was without inflection to my words. It's a curse for all writers to try and explain a feeling, or describe an emotion or event. How do you get something across to someone without the inflection in your voice? How do you say what you mean, if the written word is all you have? I describe my emotional state the best way I can, trying to convey the power of a single moment in flowery words, but the truth is most of our biggest moments would not be considered very big if someone actually heard the conversation. I suppose he was right in some ways. I suppose to him, in my writing I probably sound as if I am controlled by my extreme emotions, but I know I am just living my life the best way I know how, and pretty quietly at that. I do not rant and rave all over the house every day. I do not cry often, but sit and spend my time in thoughtful contemplation when big decisions need to be made. I am more quiet at home than any other place on earth. I live a simple life, spending time with my family, watching TV, taking walks, discussing the news of the day. My life in it's totality, in it's reality, is actually pretty tame. I am not one for, what my friend Jim refers to as "Barbie Drama", where a situation gets inflated beyond recognition, with a frenzied sense of urgency that is neither necessary or called for. I was a nurse for so long that I tend to want to breathe things in for a minute, no matter how critical, so I can make a solid decision. Panic is not in my repertoire. If you have a fever of 106, I will take your temperature twice, get ice to apply to your head and neck, call a doctor and follow the advice without so much as breaking a sweat myself. If you cut your finger off, I would put it into a bag of ice, bandage your hand and drive you to a hospital, going the speed limit and talking in low tones. If you get dumped after years of a long term relationship, I will offer you cheese cake, a shoulder to cry on and the softest tissues in the house with a "now what?" attitude to get you thinking about where you need to go from here. I am not good at panic, or extreme anything. I am not an extreme sports enthusiast, extreme makeover fan, or extremely good at very high highs or very lows. It is what makes Michael and I perfect for each other. Neither of us gets worked up at the same time. If he is unnerved, I am calm. If it is me who is upset, he is the one who ushers in the quiet. I am the exact opposite of an adrenaline junky. Even Michael with his ability to ski the steepest slopes, carefully plots out his course, before he starts down the hill. I was reading one of my favorite writers, Martha Beck. She was writing about the today's culture of being over inflated with the sense of "WOW!" Wow is nice, having the occasional toe-curler, I think is necessary, but real happiness comes from a peaceful place. Martha for me is like having a personal trainer for my brain. In her musings about happiness, I found myself confident that I was doing things in my personal life right. When Martha writes I am usually the reader who recognizes immediately how wrong I have been, but this time when she was writing about real happiness, what I recognized was how right Michael and I are together. Together we celebrate our life together with simple means. We notice a perfect weather day, or how a tree is waving to us in the wind, or how good something smells. Together we share meals, cooking together, one chopping while another sautes. We then sit at our table we bought together for just such occasions and talk, and eat, and sip, and laugh. I rinse the dishes, and he then loads them into the dishwasher. We walk hand in hand, taking in sights, smells, seasons. We rub each others feet while we watch the TV in the evening. We touch each others faces, as if to say, " I know this face. I love this face. This face makes me happy." Having these simple pleasures, this real happiness every day, is why I write blogs of extremity. I know if things do not somehow change I will not have this joy again for some time. Michael comes up behind me while I am cooking, he puts his arms around me, kisses my neck, says he loves me, purrs as if a contented feline. He nuzzles me, so completely connected are we, one to the other. He showers in the evening after working out and every night, as if on cue, I enter just after he has gotten out. I applaud his nudity, make suggestive remarks, tease him about being the "Man Candy" of the house. He dresses, his face crimson. He brushes his teeth as I stand behind him, my arms around his waist, kissing the back of his neck. It is our routine, our private boring little moments of a marriage that has lasted beyond a decade, beyond teenagers, college students, job changes, illness and moving. There is a quiet sweetness to our life together. What puts the sexy in sex for us is the connection, the acceptance, the appreciation. What others might find boring or even mundane is the very thing that keeps us content, connected and hot for each other. Martha wrote that most people do not take the time to find peaceful happiness in every day moments, but I know to my core, that Michael and I do that very thing. Big excitement is fine every once in a while, but we know enough at our age that the pendulum of excitement, adrenaline, and big comes down to swing the other way. We prefer simple, quiet, real, everyday. I know exactly what I will be missing when Michael's job takes him away. I will feel it to my bones every singe day and night. I know in excruciating detail every touch I will not feel, every kiss I will not receive, every smile I will not see. I know all of it, without exception. His having to move will prevent the big stuff like holidays together, but the worst part is the every day routine of our love, our joy, our quiet happiness. Tonight we are having southwestern pasta with chicken and capers, jalapenos, and a tomato cream sauce. We will have a salad, with a chocolate for dessert. We will laugh and talk, watch the news and discuss the events of the day, finish up, so we can do the dishes, all while brushing arms, holding hands, kissing necks, and playing footsies under the table. I am in the moment. I push so hard to live directly in the eye of the moment, quietly calculating how long until Michael will no longer be the at the physical center of my universe. He will always be in the center of my universe as a whole but just not within touching distance. What I feel for my husband is extreme. I may not live an extreme life, but I live in extreme love. As a writer, it is the one subject that is the most difficult to describe.