I Built the Doorway

I used to believe Robert had to plan and initiate our dates for them to feel meaningful.

I thought that was what being pursued looked like.

If I planned the evening, asked for the time, or told him exactly what I wanted, I felt that somehow it would not count. The romance would feel less romantic because I had helped create it.

But the older I get, the more clearly I know what I want. And the more comfortable I become asking for it.

There is a kind of freedom in being honest about your desires. In believing it is okay to let vulnerability win and simply say, I want this. I want you. I want time with us.

So that is what I did.

I could have waited for Robert to initiate a date night.

And I have in the past waited until resentment brewed.

I could have hoped he would notice the opening and plan something himself.

He’s missed those hints in the past, too.

I used to wonder, “Does he see me?”

But this time, I tried something different.

Instead, I sent the text.

We had a few children away, and the ones who were home rarely interrupt our date nights. We also had some wins from the week worth celebrating.

So I told him I wanted him. I asked him to bring home dinner so we could eat outside, have a drink, and spend the evening together by the pool.

I built the doorway and waited to see whether he would walk through it.

He did.

And it became one of the most romantic nights we have had in a long time.

The anticipation began for both of us as soon as I sent the text.

He came home with Ridge Brothers barbecue and a big smile. We ate outside at our outdoor kitchen while the sun went down. We talked. We swam. We talked about our children, because apparently even when parents escape their children, they still take them along in conversation.

By the time we climbed into the hot tub beneath the stars, the entire evening had slowly drawn us toward each other.

There was no abrupt switch from responsibility to romance. We had been walking there together all evening.

We began kissing like teenagers again.

Just as we started to kiss, one of the songs from our wedding began playing.

Robert and I both love rock music, so naturally we found ways to include it in our wedding. “Everything” by Lifehouse played as our ceremony began. “Never Gonna Be Alone” by Nickelback played during our joint wedding slideshow.

That night, when Nickelback began playing beneath the stars, I realized something.

We had made a promise all those years ago without fully understanding what it would require.

And somehow, we had kept it.

Not perfectly.

Not easily.

The clock moved faster than we imagined it would. There have been moments when we reached for our marriage, and moments when we pulled away. Days we wish we had not allowed to slip past us. Moments that, had they been our last, we would have regretted taking for granted.

But we kept finding our way back.

The words that reached me most that night were the promise not to miss another day.

Because love is not only a feeling you happen to receive.

Love is a gift you keep choosing to give.

It looks like dependability. It looks like keeping promises when keeping them is hard. It looks like holding tightly without pretending you have never disappointed each other.

It is loving someone beyond their mistakes.

Forgiving each other in disappointment.

Celebrating each other in success.

And sometimes, it looks like refusing to deny yourself the gift of asking for what you want.

I used to think that initiating the evening meant I was not being pursued.

But I understand it differently now.

I opened the door.

Robert walked through it carrying barbecue, wearing a big smile, and ready to meet me there.

I did not create the romance alone.

I simply gave it somewhere to begin