What If. . . .

I asked my husband a question when he got home from work last night.

He loves my "what if?" questions.  (Not!)

We're both intrigued with the idea that one different decision can lead to an alternate path that would make your whole life different.  The difference is that sometimes I want to imagine walking down those other paths.  And he doesn't.

What if I'd said that on our first date?

What would you have done if I'd insisted on not immunizing the children?

Who would you marry if I died?

What would we have named quadruplets?

He HATES these kinds of questions.  Some people just have no imagination.

So, last night's question was, "What if you had a clear choice between a life of travel or being married to me?"

And my beloved said: "I don't know."

He did!  That's the first thing he said.  I knew he didn't mean that.  (I think he likes to punish me for my what-if questions.)

He quickly recovered, though, and talked about how much he likes to travel, and would like to travel with me more someday.  (Yeah, wouldn't we all?  But we're largely homebound right now.)  He talked about how, after a while, all the motel rooms seem the same--you have your bed, your TV, and your bathroom.  And how it's fun to see new places and say that you've been somewhere famous, but that, in the end, it's not terribly fulfilling.

He talked about his great interest in one location and how he really has no interest in going to some places.  He mentioned that there will always be more places than a person can see, so anyone would have to let some things go.  And how, after a while, a person can come to feel like, "Yeah, I've done a lot of that already--maybe I'd like to do something else with my life now."

I watched him, feeling somewhat amused as he talked.  It occurred to me that he has already made this choice.

And I won.

He used to work in a job where he traveled constantly, staying in a new place every single night.  He liked the variety and the chance to see new places, but he traded it for becoming a family man.

So, in the end, it didn't matter what he said.  It mattered what he did.

I used to feel guilty sometimes, realizing he traded a quiet life of his travel job and his three cats for the chaos that our life together entails.  Of course, he probably brought some of that chaos with him, but I supplied plenty.

In less than five years, he had taken on a marriage and two step-children, three mortgages, two babies, two moves, and a wife in graduate school.

He used to say that life was a lot like trying to get a drink out of a fire hose.  And he was right.

We're past most of the chaos now, kind of in the eye of the storm before taking on several teenagers at once.  We've fallen into some easy rhythms.  He knows I'll keep up the laundry as regularly as Old Faithful.  I count on him to cook dinner and do the shopping. (Not in that order.)  He makes sure the house payment gets paid.  I make sure the utilities get paid.  He gets the kids to school and I do the homework with them after.  We've both noticed life is easier with a reliable partner.

In the end, it doesn't matter what fantasies we've had.  It matters what we do.