I went out for a coffee with a friend today. Over the course of the conversation, I just happened to mention that I was going to be climbing Kilimanjaro in the future, like 18 months into the future, and that as part of my training I had joined a hill-walking group. My friend asked me if my husband was going to be doing it with me? She was a little surprised when I said NO!
It then dawned on me that I was expecing my darling husband to make a huge compromise, to allow me to do what I was planning to do. Marriage is all about making compromises, big and small, and it probably doesn’t get much bigger than this. Saying goodbye to your wife as she sets off to go to deepest darkest Africa, to climb a mountain, not knowing if she is fit and able to achieve it, to not be there by her side as she achieves it, as no doubt I will.
When I first moved 400 miles to be with him, leaving behind my life as I knew it, I thought I was making all the compromises, and he was making very few, if any, after all, his life was going on as usual, same house, same friends, same golf club, same GP. It was me that was up-rooting my daughter and having to find all those new things to replace the old life I was leaving behind. Now I am beginning ot understand that he is compromising too. In different ways.