Because He Said He Would

by admin on May 24, 2013

Moonlight artwork

After a long week of taking care of sick children, your husband nestles up behind you and places a book on the counter where you are washing dishes. At first, your breath stops—a gift—until you realize you’ve already checked that book out from the library and read it last year.

You hide your disappointment and thank your husband for the gift.

A week later, your husband notices the unbent spine of the book stacked on your night stand. He says, “You haven’t read the book.”

You say the truth. “I’ve already read it.”

“But I thought it was her new book,” your husband says.

“All of her books come out in hardback first,” you explain. “Two years later, the publisher re-releases them in paperback.”

For a long moment, your husband doesn’t say anything. “I guess I didn’t pay as much attention as I thought I did.”

“It’s all right,” you say. “I’m on the waiting list at the library.”

The next week, your husband takes back the book. He doesn’t purchase the new novel since the bookstore has already sold out. He promises you he will buy it online.

Two weeks later, the book becomes available for you to pick up at the library. You hesitate, wondering whether or not you should release the book to another reader since your husband said he would purchase the book for you.

You wait and wait, hoping the decision will be made for you—the book will show up in the mail or the hold at the library will expire. But waiting isn’t doing anything except extending the time before you will have to do something.

Finally, you ask your husband, “Should I let the book go to someone else?”

He doesn’t look up from reading a news article on his laptop. “Why do you always have to nag me? I told you I would get the book. I just don’t have the money right now, okay? But I promise to order it online next week after I get paid from a client.”

“Do you know which book is her latest?”

“Of course, I do. You’ve told me a million times. Damn it, do you always have to remind me?”

You think of waiting beneath the mulberry tree for him to arrive home and watching the sunset and the moon rise and the sitter return with the children. “I forgot about our date,” your husband said when he came home after midnight. You called the theater and asked if you could get a refund for your unused tickets. You couldn’t. The next month when the VISA statement arrived, a sharp pain stabbed between your breasts as you relived that night beneath the mulberry tree alone. You think of the other times your husband has forgotten: to pick up children from school, to buy salt from the store, to pay the bills.

You think about how many times you have reminded him: with notes tucked beneath windshield wipers, text messages, voice mails, e-mails, Post-It notes, and love letters. You want to cry out, “You won’t get anything done unless someone lights a fire under your ass,” but you take a Zen-like approach and say nothing.

You release your hold on the book. You wait quietly and absorb each moment as it is with all its imperfections.

One, two, three weeks pass. You log into your library account. If you click, “Place on Hold,” you will stand behind 385 people who are also waiting to read the coveted book.

You resist the temptation, remembering the tension in your husband’s jaw, the lilt of anger in his voice, the stony wall of his resistance to your constant reminders.

He said he would buy you the book. His words, a gift certificate you hold eager for redemption.

A Zen priest says your husband is your practice. Your husband has asked you to believe in his promise to buy you the right book even when your reason and experience tell you to side with doubt. The Zen priest tells you to give your husband the opportunity to surprise you. “When you let go of your expectations, miracles happen,” he says.

You sit beside your husband that night and practice patience. You breathe in and breathe out. You release your expectations. But your practice isn’t perfect. You feel forgotten and neglected.

You glance over at your husband who is sitting on the recliner posting links on Facebook. He is here, in the room with you. You are not alone. He has not abandoned you. The book is still somewhere out there, and if you wait patiently, you will eventually own it, because he said he would.

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graduation cap

When I read an article on Yahoo! Education, Don’t Let Your Kids Study These Majors, I tweeted the link and titled it, “Another Way to Discourage Kids from Following Their Passion.” My comment sparked a lively debate, which I decided to follow up with a letter to all our children, although I addressed it to my daughter.

Dear Daughter,

Soon you’ll be applying to colleges and selecting your major. You’ll receive a lot of advice from high school counselors, college advisers, teachers, friends, and experts. You may be so overwhelmed with what to do and what not to do that you may feel paralyzed to make any decision.

You’re not alone. A lot of teens feel the same way.

When I was getting ready to apply for college, everyone advised me to major in engineering or computers. At the time, these fields commanded top dollar for highly-educated, skilled workers. Although I enjoyed math, I had no desire to learn engineering or computers. I didn’t want to spend my life thinking in a linear way. I wanted to explore the outer edges of philosophy and psychology through literature and writing. But everyone kept saying we needed women engineers and computer scientists. I tried to find the enthusiasm for these subjects, but I couldn’t.

Luckily, I had enough courage to pursue my passion to write. I studied journalism, technical writing, and creative writing. I learned how to write clearly and concisely on demand under an unyielding deadline without sacrificing creativity.

People ridiculed me. My classmates said I would be unemployable. My college adviser suggested I apply to law school and become an attorney. My parents weren’t paying for my education, so they felt they had no voice. Only your dad was supportive. He said the goal of attending college is not to land a job. It is to become educated. By being educated, you show an employer you have ambition. You can set a goal and achieve it. You know how to learn. You are resourceful. You can plan for the future.

Your dad was right, of course.

By the time I graduated from college, the job market had changed. Engineering and computer science were no longer the most desirable fields of study. Business had taken precedence. A few of my college classmates applied to graduate school, hoping to chase the next wave of the job market. Others took jobs that were not related to their majors. Of course, a few remained unemployed.

Not me.

I found work immediately. My writing skills allowed me to enter the field of real estate as a marketing assistant, writing advertisements for listings and open houses. From there, I entered the world of finance and banking, both without a business degree. At the same time, I continued to follow my passion, publishing hundreds of articles and short stories and four books. I also painted dozens of landscapes that grace the walls of other people’s homes and offices. Not to mention my greeting cards.

So don’t worry about college. It doesn’t matter where you go or what you study. It matters that you learn and grow. And follow your dreams.

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I’ve been contacted by the temp agency where I worked a couple of years ago with the opportunity to write-for-hire at three times what I was paid in 2010, which is, after you calculate the time and effort researching, interviewing, writing and rewriting, only a few steps above pennies on the hour. The economy has [...]

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