Resplendent memories: A fear of 'Been there, done that'
Foreword: Human recall of episodic memories is seldom entirely accurate, in fact, it is anything but that. I've written about this previously, in my article The Tapestry of a Memory. Therefore, this is merely my recollection of past events rewoven by my brain to form what it thinks is reality, and my narrative will definitely be subject to positivity bias.That said, I will try to give a balanced picture.
It's been a whole year since I got married! This post series is going to contain a selected set of memories from my married life, sampled from various points across 2018-2019. Instead of writing this up as one long article, I'm planning to write around half a dozen short drabbles each focusing on a set of incidents around a central theme, not necessarily chronological.
When I was looking to get married, I was scared of love--more accurately, scared of being blinded by love. I wanted an arranged marriage because I wanted to make the decision to marry objectively and not under the influence! Browsing through profiles was agonizing though, it seemed that anyone even remotely interesting was against arranged marriage. But back then, marriage was an 'if' to me, not 'when'. If I met someone inspiring and interesting enough, I'd marry. I refused to "settle" for someone I didn't truly find extraordinary. I'd imagined the process to be an arduous one, spanning years. I had a long list of criteria, which I will not get into here, for fear of being accused of sapiosexual hypocrisy and discrimination. :P
After a month of using a bunch of filters and getting "no results found" on the website, I finally stumbled upon someone whose profile seemed interesting. He had made some unconventional life choices, and they fascinated and intrigued me. Our parents went through the initial conversations, and then the ball was in my court. I decided to meet him. I was intimidated though, because this was a person who was seven and a half years older than me. Who had seen so much more of the world. Whose horizons spanned so much more than mine. Would we even be able to relate to each other? I had graduated a month ago from my Masters and was in my first job ever. This guy had finished his PhD seven years ago and was in his third job. I could count the number of places I've visited, and he'd probably lost count. I'd never even been on a flight, and he took them on a weekly basis. I'd never been abroad, and he'd lived there for years. Could our lives be anymore different?
Daunting at first glance, this age difference of ours. But I'd always held that age didn't matter, and it was time to practice what I preached. I told myself: So what if it doesn't work out? You'll still have met someone that you wanted to meet, and surely that experience in itself is worth it.
But there were things that I feared as an inevitable consequence of the age difference: I wanted to marry someone who looked at me as an equal, not someone who'd always think of me as young and inexperienced. What if every problem of mine seemed trivial to him, and he'd wave them off with the quintessential 'been there, done that'? I didn't want to be patronized, or have my decisions made for me.I wanted to live my own life, make my own mistakes, not follow the exact path that my spouse took, just because it was tried and tested. I wanted to be my own person. And this age gap seemed to imply the exact opposite of that, forever. No matter what phase of life I'd be in, he would have gotten there first. Been there, done that. It felt like a race that I'd always be running.
I sat there waiting for him that Saturday evening in a coffee day, and these thoughts haunted me. I was early as usual, at that by an hour, and had walked the vicinity of Lalbagh metro station to kill time. Added to my woes was the fact that he was running late. Finally he turned up, 45 mins late, and apologized profusely--little did he know that I'd been waiting for close to 2 hours :P. Anyway, I gave him the benefit of doubt, and we started talking. I had a long list of questions in mind, and I made it a point to ask each and every one of them. He was honest in all his replies, more so than absolutely necessary in a first meeting, and that caught my attention. There was no artifice, he was the epitome of genuineness.
As we spoke, I kept wondering if I sounded silly and naive to him. I wondered how I'd react to someone seven years younger. But he was very respectful of my choices and opinions, and I felt reassured. Weirdly enough, I didn't feel the age difference at all--it felt like I was talking to someone entirely on my mental plane. Someone who listened keenly to what I said, gave it due thought and responded with remarkable clarity and emotion. I went with my instincts that day, and I decided that this man was not someone who would patronize me or take my decisions away from me.
A year later, I could not be more sure of that.The man I call my husband is the opposite of patronizing. He has never once told me, Here's what you should do or Oh, that's a trifle. Whenever I ask him for advice, he tells me Let me know if I'm sounding preachy. I don't want to let my view of things bleed into whatever I tell you. I try as much as I can to avoid that, but feel free to point it out anytime you see it happening.
In fact, I appreciate our age difference and thrive on it. In a way, I have the best of both worlds, because I get a broader perspective but with judgement withheld.
I am infinitely grateful for this person who delights in my life and its experiences without the cynicism of someone who is past those joys and considers them trivial.
When I saw snow for the first time and delighted in it, he frolicked around with me like a happy child. He'd lived in snow filled places for three long years, and disdained it.
On my first flight, he held my hand and smiled, while I kept looking down in awe and commenting how tiny everything looked. He's taken hundreds of flights, and the view would be as interesting to him as a blank wall.
On a beach vacation, he walked me to waist deep water, and laughed every time a wave came up to my shoulder. He stood there for two hours with me, till I had my fill of it. This man, whose entire undergrad life was spent in a college bordering the beach. A beach, to him, was as boring as it could get.
My first time at the pool, he patiently taught me how to float, and while I found that overwhelming and scary, I enjoyed the feeling of wading around in cool water. I kept doing that clumsily albeit happily, and he indulged me. He'd learnt swimming at the age of 6, need I say more?
This man does not let his experiences taint mine. He does the opposite--he lets himself see the world through my full-of-wonder eyes, and shares in my delight. :)
It's been a whole year since I got married! This post series is going to contain a selected set of memories from my married life, sampled from various points across 2018-2019. Instead of writing this up as one long article, I'm planning to write around half a dozen short drabbles each focusing on a set of incidents around a central theme, not necessarily chronological.
When I was looking to get married, I was scared of love--more accurately, scared of being blinded by love. I wanted an arranged marriage because I wanted to make the decision to marry objectively and not under the influence! Browsing through profiles was agonizing though, it seemed that anyone even remotely interesting was against arranged marriage. But back then, marriage was an 'if' to me, not 'when'. If I met someone inspiring and interesting enough, I'd marry. I refused to "settle" for someone I didn't truly find extraordinary. I'd imagined the process to be an arduous one, spanning years. I had a long list of criteria, which I will not get into here, for fear of being accused of sapiosexual hypocrisy and discrimination. :P
After a month of using a bunch of filters and getting "no results found" on the website, I finally stumbled upon someone whose profile seemed interesting. He had made some unconventional life choices, and they fascinated and intrigued me. Our parents went through the initial conversations, and then the ball was in my court. I decided to meet him. I was intimidated though, because this was a person who was seven and a half years older than me. Who had seen so much more of the world. Whose horizons spanned so much more than mine. Would we even be able to relate to each other? I had graduated a month ago from my Masters and was in my first job ever. This guy had finished his PhD seven years ago and was in his third job. I could count the number of places I've visited, and he'd probably lost count. I'd never even been on a flight, and he took them on a weekly basis. I'd never been abroad, and he'd lived there for years. Could our lives be anymore different?
Daunting at first glance, this age difference of ours. But I'd always held that age didn't matter, and it was time to practice what I preached. I told myself: So what if it doesn't work out? You'll still have met someone that you wanted to meet, and surely that experience in itself is worth it.
But there were things that I feared as an inevitable consequence of the age difference: I wanted to marry someone who looked at me as an equal, not someone who'd always think of me as young and inexperienced. What if every problem of mine seemed trivial to him, and he'd wave them off with the quintessential 'been there, done that'? I didn't want to be patronized, or have my decisions made for me.I wanted to live my own life, make my own mistakes, not follow the exact path that my spouse took, just because it was tried and tested. I wanted to be my own person. And this age gap seemed to imply the exact opposite of that, forever. No matter what phase of life I'd be in, he would have gotten there first. Been there, done that. It felt like a race that I'd always be running.
I sat there waiting for him that Saturday evening in a coffee day, and these thoughts haunted me. I was early as usual, at that by an hour, and had walked the vicinity of Lalbagh metro station to kill time. Added to my woes was the fact that he was running late. Finally he turned up, 45 mins late, and apologized profusely--little did he know that I'd been waiting for close to 2 hours :P. Anyway, I gave him the benefit of doubt, and we started talking. I had a long list of questions in mind, and I made it a point to ask each and every one of them. He was honest in all his replies, more so than absolutely necessary in a first meeting, and that caught my attention. There was no artifice, he was the epitome of genuineness.
As we spoke, I kept wondering if I sounded silly and naive to him. I wondered how I'd react to someone seven years younger. But he was very respectful of my choices and opinions, and I felt reassured. Weirdly enough, I didn't feel the age difference at all--it felt like I was talking to someone entirely on my mental plane. Someone who listened keenly to what I said, gave it due thought and responded with remarkable clarity and emotion. I went with my instincts that day, and I decided that this man was not someone who would patronize me or take my decisions away from me.
A year later, I could not be more sure of that.The man I call my husband is the opposite of patronizing. He has never once told me, Here's what you should do or Oh, that's a trifle. Whenever I ask him for advice, he tells me Let me know if I'm sounding preachy. I don't want to let my view of things bleed into whatever I tell you. I try as much as I can to avoid that, but feel free to point it out anytime you see it happening.
In fact, I appreciate our age difference and thrive on it. In a way, I have the best of both worlds, because I get a broader perspective but with judgement withheld.
I am infinitely grateful for this person who delights in my life and its experiences without the cynicism of someone who is past those joys and considers them trivial.
When I saw snow for the first time and delighted in it, he frolicked around with me like a happy child. He'd lived in snow filled places for three long years, and disdained it.
On my first flight, he held my hand and smiled, while I kept looking down in awe and commenting how tiny everything looked. He's taken hundreds of flights, and the view would be as interesting to him as a blank wall.
On a beach vacation, he walked me to waist deep water, and laughed every time a wave came up to my shoulder. He stood there for two hours with me, till I had my fill of it. This man, whose entire undergrad life was spent in a college bordering the beach. A beach, to him, was as boring as it could get.
My first time at the pool, he patiently taught me how to float, and while I found that overwhelming and scary, I enjoyed the feeling of wading around in cool water. I kept doing that clumsily albeit happily, and he indulged me. He'd learnt swimming at the age of 6, need I say more?
This man does not let his experiences taint mine. He does the opposite--he lets himself see the world through my full-of-wonder eyes, and shares in my delight. :)
Comments
Post a Comment