From Chaos to Clarity

It’s been about a year since the calendar seemed to rule our lives. In those days, raising children and working full time jobs, Donelle and I each kept our own calendars. What started out as the occasional block of time reserved or birthday noted quickly grew arms and legs until the little blocks became inundated with events and meetings. These layers were added over time and just seemed to gather inertia as the years went by. There really seemed to be no opportunity to step back and ask each other if we wanted all that stuff on there. It takes time to do some serious self-reflection.

We worked hard at our jobs. We took some amazing vacations. We did the best we could to show our two kids their wings and teach them to fly. Looking back now I remember how busy it all seemed. And how resentful I became of the calendar. Donelle and I both felt there were times when the ebb and flow of activity pushed responsibilities first her way and then mine. This created resentment of the other’s free time or perceived lack of help. I know we shared moments and a blissful connection that only comes with the passage of time but I sincerely do not miss the digital chaos of that online calendar. All of that stuff, all of those scheduled events, took up space and time. It was like I was on one side of the room and Donelle was on the other. We could wave at each other easily enough but it sure was hard to hold hands.

It’s a different pace nowadays. There are still things on the schedule but they decorate the days rather than clutter into a daze. Without a doubt the best part is sharing the daily moments with Donelle. Oh sure, a lot of the moments are far from momentous but it’s a shared experience, a grand adventure!

Pulling our 325-square-foot home around the country means we’re no longer waving at each other from across the room. We are downright close in proximity and lending each other a helping hand as often as holding them. One thing we do more of now is talk with one another. I’ve said things to her in the last few months that I never could have predicted and our previous schedule would have precluded. For example, there’s a particularly bouncy section of fresh concrete that winds around the NE corner of Phoenix and it goes on for miles. We were singing with distinct, unforced and effortless vibrato due to the significant jostling in the cab of the truck. I looked over at her, we looked deeply into each other’s eyes like long-lost lovers, and I said, “This really makes my boobs hurt.” Not really the grand romantic adventure so often laid before us on Instagram reels or travel brochures but blissfully, the pavement turned to asphalt a few miles later. In the subsequent miles across the southern United States there have been more than a couple “jouncy” concrete miles that resulted in unspoken messages shared through a look and a grin. I resolve to get back into doing push-ups and tighten those pectorals a bit.

One of our stops took us to a state park on the gulf shore of Louisiana and we both found it to be a magical place. We slowly drove in the truck down the narrow roads just breathing in the uniqueness and vast environmental differences compared to central Minnesota. We were holding hands in more of a metaphorical sense as she has thus far rejected my offers to slide over next to me and sit in the middle of the front bench seat. I think that falls in the same category as walking down the midway at the fair with my hand in her back pocket… but I digress. Anyway, neither of us had much exposure to bayou country and this area did not disappoint. So completely out of our ecological wheelhouse, we were fine with the complete lack of amenities at this particular campground. There was a bunch of sand and plenty of waves, a mile long boardwalk that extended out into the swamp opposite the beach, and FREE use of the laundry. I challenge you to describe a little chunk of heaven more succinctly. This park had 26 pull-through camping sites all in a roomy row and we had the entire place pretty much to ourselves…except the site right next to us apparently. While continuing to set up our rig for our week-long stay, we paused to watch as a well-worn travel trailer, behind a truck that had some horrific grinding emanating from the front left wheel area, pulled into the site adjacent to ours. From behind the wheel, out popped a short woman resplendent in mismatched tie-dyed shirt and sweat pants. “Hiya neighbor!” she said. Looking left then right at all the empty spaces I thought to myself, “Yeah, um, can we spread out a little?” Nope. What commenced instead was a 30-minute introduction on the lawn between our campers. Most previous and subsequent new-neighbor situations like this involved some give and take of who is sharing information. But this time not so much. While this could easily have been a case of someone trying too hard to be interesting instead of balancing that with being interested, we later determined this person was just longing for some human contact. Donelle and I, not immediately recognizing the situation, quietly went about our routine. Tethering Kaia to her leash we headed for the sand and a peaceful sea side stroll at sunset. A voice rose above the waves, “Can I come with you?” Didn’t really have a quick response for that one so Minnesota nice became Minnesota awkward. It didn’t seem right to hold her hand as well as Donelle’s so I clutched the leash tightly and eliminated the possibility.

The next several days Donelle and I found ourselves planning our camper escapes as to not draw attention from next door. Our being nice was interpreted as an open invitation to join us anytime we were outside. One morning I found myself once again in no man’s land on the lawn between campers, reviewing the neighbor’s self-published calendar of inspirational messages accompanied by 12 vacation photos. As usual my word count was in the single digits as I swear she never paused to breathe. The messages and photos were lovely, really, but I selfishly was thinking about the calendar that Donelle and I were trying to make, the one chronicling the adventure. I was failing miserably at the attempts of disengagement or extrication. And that’s when an angel spoke to me from the door of our camper, “James, your sister is on the phone.” Thankfully, my brain was addled enough at that point that I did not point out to Donelle that we had no cell service. It was only after climbing the stairs and shutting the door behind me that my wits finally caught up and I realized what had just transpired – I had been saved! There have been other stage 5 clingers and awkward campground conversationalists for both of us since that stop. And the “saves” are now doled out with a knowing glance.

Thankfully, there are also serious moments of deep reflection and shared excitement that afford us opportunities to grow closer, for our love to blossom. And for our roles in this grand adventure to find clarity … and division. Certain jobs are my jobs and not just because there are some things that men can do better than women (tongue planted firmly in cheek.) For instance, climbing up on the roof causes Donelle to go into vapor lock so that one is mine. Locating my car keys, eye glasses, or hearing aid…finding anything really … that’s her job and I suspect voodoo is involved. I really had hoped that 26 years of marriage would result in an unspoken understanding that bugs would not be one of my jobs in the camper. Despite my rather high-pitched discussion with Donelle over the matter, in the presence of a spider, I learned more about the 50-50 nature of relationships. In that moment I tried to barter into the 70 percent range if bugs could stay off my side of the ledger. Things got out of hand quickly and I’m certain the spider was thrilled our attention was drawn away from it. “So let’s make sure I have this straight,” Donelle started off. The spider and I were suddenly unified in our dislike of the tone and the crossed arms. “That makes it bats, snakes, mice, and then spiders. In that order. Correct?” she said. It didn’t really feel like a question. While sometimes the unspoken communication shared between one another is priceless I think, in this case I was just fine with the verbalized list establishing what we should consider “her jobs.” I think I caught a muffled “big strong man” being uttered as she grabbed a Kleenex. Both the spider and I shuddered.

I think one of the best things about holding hands while walking through life is that you’re close enough to hear the other person. I remember watching some video online about a couple who ensured close communication by scheduling time with each other. They had regular date nights scheduled each week and carved out time to let each other know how important they were to one another. That always seemed wrong to me but I lacked the perspective to define why. Part of me revolted the notion of reducing a relationship to a line item in the very calendar of which I grew increasingly resentful. But shame on me for not working within the constraints of the very system in which I was living.

So we’re taking full advantage of our new calendar. Some days are planned out and others are blank, waiting to see what we feel like doing or what we might need to fix. At the end of the day, we reflect back on the time together and the experiences we had, thankful and feeling incredibly blessed to be on this adventure together.