Today’s Up Close post comes from Nan, a cheery and clever woman who delights in her expedition. In her words: “I spent the first 18 years of my life in the same house and ward in Northern Utah. In the decade and a half since, I’ve had 30 different addresses in places as remote as Orange, Australia to the cosmopolitan Houston, Texas. In my professional life I’ve mostly been a teacher; in my private life I’m most comfortable being a wife and a mother. I post under the name scienceteachermommy on a blog titled Nomad. I’m grateful for each lesson taught and each friend encountered on the journey.”
[Picture is her tenth anniversary trip; hiking the Navajo Trail in Bryce Canyon just after sunrise.]
The first year of marriage was hard for me. I thought it was because my independent streak and need for alone-time were too powerful to make living with another something that came naturally; hadn’t I had the same difficulty on my mission? I certainly wasn’t conflicted about marriage, but I was fairly ambivalent toward the whole having-kids-thing and was motivated by career dreams.
I didn’t know whom to talk to about my difficulties. I’d never met anyone who suggested the first year of marriage was anything but bliss: a never-ending honeymoon. More than one friend told me with a wink and a smile that if you put a jellybean in a jar every time you had sex the first year, you could eat one of those jellybeans every time you were intimate in the years after and never run out. I hate jellybeans. I was also told that women give sex to get love, and that men show love to get sex.