artifact of a couple’s history requiring investment and stakes. Likewise, it cannot be unbound with a single gesture—at least not safely or constructively. Pressure can be relieved with a variety of situation-specific tactics. An explosive confrontation can be diffused, but not dismantled. Without a systematic teardown and rebuild, however, it’s only a matter of time before the tension coils around and pulls everything taut.
Unfortunately, too often in relationships many of us don’t have the foresight, the tools, or the wherewithal to disentangle ourselves from the roots of the tension. We tell ourselves it’s not the right time to do a proper unraveling. We just need to wait until things relax, weconvince ourselves. And then we inevitably wait too long, we wait until we’re bound up in an agglomeration of knots and gnarls, too entangled and too turned around to even be looking the right way when something snaps. Our lifeline begins to fray with all the weight pulling on it, and we’re beyond unprepared. We’re so wound up, we can’t even think straight, and all we can focus on is how to cut out a little slack.
That’s what happened with Reidier and the basement. Disoriented by stress, hampered by fear—fear of professional failure, fear of losing Eve and the boys—he had a knee-jerk reaction, and he ran with it. Fix the basement. Fix the basement and everything will be ok. Eve will be ok. His work will be ok. And the house will be fine.
Phillip Moffitt, founder of the Life Balance Institute, 19 explores this myopic mind-set in much of his writing. He observes how the rationalization is always “the same—‘Once this situation is remedied, then I will be happy.’ But it never works that way in reality: The goal is achieved, but the person who reaches it is not the same person who dreamed it. The goal was static, but the person’s identity was dynamic.” In Reidier’s case, the goal was clear and achievable.
The basement foundation is cracked.
He had done something like this before. It had been a problem.
Eve can’t handle another incident. She won’t handle it.
Fix the foundation. Fix Eve.
What he didn’t realize is that he was addressing the wrong problem. Reidier was trying to fix their house—a static goal. Eve wanted him to fix their home—a dynamic desire.
Belongings are never just objects. They’re metaphors. Something happens, an emotional alchemy of sorts transforms a thing into a possession. It happens every day, all the time. A young child playswith a bunch of beads and string for an arts and crafts project. A parent thinks nothing of it, until a bead goes up the nose, a scream pierces the air, a family drives to the hospital, and a green bead is removed from deep within the nasal passage, washed, and strung on a blue string to dangle from a father’s neck, metamorphosed into his most valuable piece of jewelry. *
----
* I haven’t thought about this for years. I was playing with Remi Allens. We went to Hoey Camp together Mondays through Fridays from 9:00-11:30. In the fields out back, the big kids would play baseball with Mr. Hoey as the automatic pitcher. Inside, Mrs. Hoey would monitor the Ping-Pong and bumper pool tournaments and run the Arts ‘n Crafts activities. I don’t think there was a family within a ten-mile radius of that place that wasn’t rife with woven pot holders, gimp bracelets, and bead necklaces.
Most days I played baseball. Even though I was technically a little kid, I knew how to hit Mr. Hoey’s underhand knuckleball. It was raining that day, though, and the game was called. While some undaunted souls still braved the elements, climbing the slippery jungle gym or playing chicken with centripetal force on the playground merry-go-round, I felt the call of the indoors.
As typically happens on rainy days, the Ping-Pong tables were mobbed, and the bumper pool had a queue ten kids deep. Arts ‘n Crafts it was. Mom had made me swear off potholders after I
Unfortunately, too often in relationships many of us don’t have the foresight, the tools, or the wherewithal to disentangle ourselves from the roots of the tension. We tell ourselves it’s not the right time to do a proper unraveling. We just need to wait until things relax, weconvince ourselves. And then we inevitably wait too long, we wait until we’re bound up in an agglomeration of knots and gnarls, too entangled and too turned around to even be looking the right way when something snaps. Our lifeline begins to fray with all the weight pulling on it, and we’re beyond unprepared. We’re so wound up, we can’t even think straight, and all we can focus on is how to cut out a little slack.
That’s what happened with Reidier and the basement. Disoriented by stress, hampered by fear—fear of professional failure, fear of losing Eve and the boys—he had a knee-jerk reaction, and he ran with it. Fix the basement. Fix the basement and everything will be ok. Eve will be ok. His work will be ok. And the house will be fine.
Phillip Moffitt, founder of the Life Balance Institute, 19 explores this myopic mind-set in much of his writing. He observes how the rationalization is always “the same—‘Once this situation is remedied, then I will be happy.’ But it never works that way in reality: The goal is achieved, but the person who reaches it is not the same person who dreamed it. The goal was static, but the person’s identity was dynamic.” In Reidier’s case, the goal was clear and achievable.
The basement foundation is cracked.
He had done something like this before. It had been a problem.
Eve can’t handle another incident. She won’t handle it.
Fix the foundation. Fix Eve.
What he didn’t realize is that he was addressing the wrong problem. Reidier was trying to fix their house—a static goal. Eve wanted him to fix their home—a dynamic desire.
Belongings are never just objects. They’re metaphors. Something happens, an emotional alchemy of sorts transforms a thing into a possession. It happens every day, all the time. A young child playswith a bunch of beads and string for an arts and crafts project. A parent thinks nothing of it, until a bead goes up the nose, a scream pierces the air, a family drives to the hospital, and a green bead is removed from deep within the nasal passage, washed, and strung on a blue string to dangle from a father’s neck, metamorphosed into his most valuable piece of jewelry. *
----
* I haven’t thought about this for years. I was playing with Remi Allens. We went to Hoey Camp together Mondays through Fridays from 9:00-11:30. In the fields out back, the big kids would play baseball with Mr. Hoey as the automatic pitcher. Inside, Mrs. Hoey would monitor the Ping-Pong and bumper pool tournaments and run the Arts ‘n Crafts activities. I don’t think there was a family within a ten-mile radius of that place that wasn’t rife with woven pot holders, gimp bracelets, and bead necklaces.
Most days I played baseball. Even though I was technically a little kid, I knew how to hit Mr. Hoey’s underhand knuckleball. It was raining that day, though, and the game was called. While some undaunted souls still braved the elements, climbing the slippery jungle gym or playing chicken with centripetal force on the playground merry-go-round, I felt the call of the indoors.
As typically happens on rainy days, the Ping-Pong tables were mobbed, and the bumper pool had a queue ten kids deep. Arts ‘n Crafts it was. Mom had made me swear off potholders after I
Similar Books
