Josh left this fantastic comment on the blogoversary post which a lot of people commented about. Yes, my husband reads my blog. Every once in a while, he comments. Sometimes he will bring up a post over dinner. But most of the time, it’s just this small comfort to know that he is quietly out there, noting my words, and we don’t need to talk about it.
I know some people keep their blog from their partner because it’s their space, a private swatch of the Internet where they can place their thoughts. But I have such oral diarrhea about my feelings that I feel the opposite — I wouldn’t want to write this space if Josh wasn’t reading it. He is the one who told me to start it, so really, if you want to thank someone for this space, it should be him.
What people didn’t know when they read that comment is that it came on a day when he was running around like crazy to get a gala into place. It took an incredible amount of work on top of his normal job, and he was stretched thin.
At the gala that night, they brought him and another man onto stage to thank them for their work on the evening. I was speaking to the mother of the other man during the cocktail hour and she said, “did your heart explode when they brought Josh onto the stage to thank him? Because my heart was out to here seeing my son up there.”
And the only thing I could say is that my heart explodes every time I see Josh. Period.
It explodes when I see him being honoured on stage, and it explodes when he’s washing the dishes. It especially explodes when he takes all the night wakings from the kids so I can sleep. It explodes when he’s trying on t-shirts at Old Navy and it explodes when he’s telling me about something he heard on NPR and it explodes when he’s patiently pausing Battlestar Gallactica and explaining something to me for the thirtieth time. And yes, of course it explodes when he accomplishes something amazing like having his play performed on stages around the world or when he’s asked to present at a conference. But my heart explodes. Period.
The best way I can explain Josh is using this idea that a friend told me about the medication he takes. My understanding based on piecing together snippets of explanation is that when he isn’t on it, he feels like there is this enormous chasm in his brain, this dark blot that holds his attention more than the outside world. It has a pull, and that pull makes him focus on it instead of relationships or tasks at hand. It makes him anxious and depressed because he is well aware that there is life outside the blot, but he can’t drag his attention away from that dark hole.
The medication literally plugs that hole, is the missing puzzle piece that slips into place, effectively covering up the dark blot. With the medication in place, he can be this completely different person, one who can look in multiple directions and pay attention to details.
Perhaps that isn’t the most romantic way to describe my husband, but it is the most honest way. I feel like most of us are born with this missing piece inside of us, and either we find that completion or we don’t. Perhaps the luckiest ones are born without that need for companionship, but I also count myself amongst the lucky because I have found my missing piece, that person who slips quietly into my brain, plugging the dark blots of life so I can concentrate on being my best self.
I knew from the first date with Josh that he was the equivalent of what this medication was for my friend because I literally felt like a different person talking with him. I felt like a better version of myself. I felt like even though it was night time and winter, it was somehow sunnier. I just felt better, even though, if you had asked me before I walked downstairs to get into his car, I would have said that I felt fine.
Because I did feel fine before Josh. I just feel better now with Josh. Just as there were people in my life who I could have married and made a life with and they would have been fine. They would have been a decent fit. But Josh is a perfect fit and therefore, in finding that completion I feel better than fine.
This particular fish needs a bicycle.
So thank you Josh, for reading, for commenting, for being you.