Today is my 33rd wedding anniversary.
I want to write about trapped and finding a way through. Being trapped and feeling trapped. By my flesh, my fear and my finances.
Do I blame him for the way things are, for the way things turned out? I’m not sure. On some level, certainly. For being lazy, absolutely. His daughters and their beaux see the laziness and struggle in their relationships with him because of it.
For making poor choices early on? I’m not so sure, because I did, too.
Most of all, I just feel betrayed by the 60’s. We had no goals or driving motivation beyond the day. We gave no thought for the morrow, and were neither taught nor prepared to discover our futures. Perhaps this is a situation only visited upon liberal arts majors who were pushed into college without any discernable goals. I’m not sure.
Teaching was presented as a fall-back. I couldn’t do it. I sat through a week of education classes, saw how it was all about crowd control and changed my major to Theatre. As snarky Fate would have it, the kids in my class who chose that option, found upon graduation that there were no teaching jobs available. Most of them tested into civil service jobs and ended up as middle management bureaucrats. Argh!! Not for me.
But I’ve never known what I wanted to do. He puts me down all the time, ridiculing my desire to be self-employed. He thinks it’s too risky, dangerous to have to depend on oneself to make money. Perhaps he’s wise after all, knowing his own laziness.
To me, the challenge and the reward are worth the risk. To be able to say proudly, “I did this! This is my doing!” The sense of satisfaction, knowing that you’ve done your best, put it out there and found an audience, a market – now that must be something!
Somehow, it is not enough to say this about surviving 33 years of marriage.