A Bad Case of EVB

My husband and I just returned from a cruise around the Western Caribbean. It was his first cruise, and he is hooked. But now we’ve got EVB; we’ve got it bad. EVB:  that’s “End of Vacation Blues.” It began incubating toward the very end of our trip and blew into a full-blown textbook case the day after we arrived home.

Our cruise was supposed to include stops at Jamaica, Grand Cayman, and Cozumel. But we sailed into a cycle of tropical storms that created 10’ Gulf swells, rain, and 50-knot winds.

But we were not discouraged.  

We had a great room.

With a balcony.

When it wasn’t raining, we spent a lot of time out there.

 We enjoyed delicious food. Lots of it.

We entertained ourselves quite nicely during four days without internet, cell phones, or obligations.

Somewhere, out in the distance, is Jamaica. We didn’t get to stop there and do the zip line over the tree canopy outside of Montego Bay. So long, Jamaica.

We saw flying fish, though, from the balcony during a break in the weather.

And that island over there? That’s Grand Cayman. That’s as close as we got; strong winds prohibited us from tendering, so the port was closed. We didn’t get to snorkel, swim, or take the Atlantis submarine to see life under the sea.

So long, Georgetown. Maybe next time.

The fifth day of our cruise, though, the seas calmed, the sun shone, and we were able to stop at the La Isla de Cozumel.

 We saw Mayan ruins at Tulum.

 We had some beach time.

 Not nearly enough beach time.

So long, Cozumel. Until next time.

So now we’re home. With EVB. Where’s our cabin steward? I have to make my own bed now, and vacuum. And there is no turn-down service. And where’s our chef, and our entertainment director?

And how about the nice young man who brought the tray of Fun Drinks even when we just thought about it? Sigh.

My husband thinks the only cure for our EVB is to move to Playa del Carmen, a beautiful seaside village in Yucatan that captured our fancies.

We still wouldn’t have a chef, a cabin steward, or a Fun Drink Man. But I’m willing to race for that cure.

Moments in Marriage: Thirty-Six Years

It was love for the grandchildren that made us return from our 5-day anniversary getaway.  Pure, sacrificial love. If we hadn’t come home, I can just imagine all our young granddaughters asking, “Why didn’t Mimi and Papi come home? Don’t they miss us?” And yes, we would have missed them, and the grandsons, too.

But our 36^th wedding anniversary celebration was indeed a celebration. A private celebration of us.  And we didn’t want it to end.

We had taken our hiking gear because Arkansas has some great trails.

But the cabin we had chosen for our getaway was so secluded we felt the entire world was our own. Think Adam and Eve.

So once we got settled in, we didn’t leave it until check-out time.

The weather was so pleasant we kept the doors open to hear the sounds of the woods and enjoy the soft breezes that blew through the valley.

We enjoyed sunrises.

And moonrises.

And views from the hot tub.

In a long-term marriage, you have to nurture the magic that brought you together in the first place. You have to put some personal work into being fascinated with your partner and being fascinating to your partner. Emotionally. Physically. Intellectually. Spiritually.

But the pay-off is a rare depth that many have not or will not experience. A long-term marriage gives you the opportunity to appreciate how far your partner has come, the entire person he is, and who he is becoming. Developing an openness together to dynamic change and growth is both inspiring and comforting.

In thirty-six years, our shoulders together have borne burdens, and I expect that labor is not done. But our lives are still open to small, calm pleasures that are not rare, and our hearts continue to dance in the joy of being together.

We continue to enjoy a celebration of us.

Moments in Marriage: How to Treat Me (Let Me Teach You)

I heard it just before I engaged the DVD for the granddaughters. Dr. Phil was sitting opposite an attractive, well dressed, 30-something married couple. “You know we teach people how to treat us, right?” he asked.

I didn’t watch any more of the program -- the granddaughters were waiting for the princess movie -- but the question echoed in my mind all afternoon.

If I don’t like how my spouse is treating me, I might ask myself, “How have I been teaching him to treat me this way?” And the next question might be, “How can I change this lesson plan!?"

A good teacher targets a skill or desired behavior, and then plans for the student to achieve success in that targeted goal through example, instruction, practice, and cooperative effort, with either intrinsic or extrinsic rewards.

Sometimes in our marriages, it’s painfully obvious that the behavior we’re getting is not the desired behavior. At those times, we should ask ourselves, “How do I want this to turn out?” “How do I wish it could be different?”

Once we know what the goal is, we have to take action to reach it -- and that means to communicate about it.

When conflict occurs in our marriage, we have options. We can confront the conflict and get to the bottom of the problem, we can communicate, we can appeal; we can assert ourselves.

Or not.

A few years ago I read that the manner in which you communicate with your spouse “crystallizes” within the first year of marriage. Therefore, couples should work hard to establish patterns of effective communication early on, for these habits will most likely continue throughout the marriage.

Many of us never progress past patterns of communication we learned in our first dating experiences in junior high or high school. But think about it. Middle- and high schoolers don’t generally have effective or well-developed skills for communicating through conflict. Usually there is a lot of drama involved, with banging objects down on tables, slamming doors, or raising voices. In my case, the drama was internalized with resentment, anger, and disdain.

Some retreat to “violence” and others, to silence: both are ineffective and ultimately destructive in any relationship. Neither one is a mature methodology for resolving conflict or increasing our marital happiness. Only communication, uncomfortable though it may sometimes be, will effectively teach your spouse how to treat you.

Moments in Marriage

They had an incredible find-each-other, lose-each-other, find-each-other-again fairy tale story of love, crossing continents, languages, and time.

“And then they got married,” you smile, “and they lived happily ever after, right?”

Well, yes and no. They moved from China, where they had met and properly dated, to his home in the U.S. They were far away from the entire context of their relationship, and after almost a year passed, they weren’t sure they had made the right decision to marry.

There was still a language issue. Each had cultural preferences on which to continually compromise. There were differences in mind-set and personality. He said when they gathered with circles of friends, “They only asked us, ‘How did you meet?’ People never ask you, ‘How do you stay together?’”

That is the harder question. Not so romantic, maybe not as good a story. Nevertheless, I interview myself, who is a supposed expert in long-term marriage, having been married for thirty-six years. I ask myself, “So, Doris, how do YOU stay together, you two who are total opposites?” Great question! I respond, and my mind rifles through our many differences, some of them major differences that have produced vast and twisted misunderstandings. But I find the true answer: We work to accept each other.

I ask myself again, “So, Doris, how do you stay . . . together?” not meaning how we continue to exist together under the same roof, but rather wondering how we maintain intimacy over so many years. I think, It’s harder than it looks, but of course I don’t answer myself out loud because that answer is kind of a downer. My thoughts shuffle through some desert-dry stretches of our marriage during which it seems our efforts were all focused on cooperation: with the kids, the schedule, the careers, the ministries, the plans. But I come up with the answer: We work to renew ourselves, then to renew our relationship. In that growth, intimacy becomes fresh.

I ask myself a final time, “So, Doris, how, and I really mean how do you do it? How do you stay together?” It’s a miracle of God’s grace, I sigh, my eyes twinkling. But it’s not hard to come up with the real answer: We are committed to each other. We work hard to live out our commitment.

The story of your meeting, fresh romance, and how you fell in love can only sustain you for so long. As time passes, you need a more substantial “story” which will reach into your core and become as much a part of you as your own psyche feels a part of you. Familiar, yet, at least a little bit fascinating.

It takes work. But no one ever said becoming an expert is easy.