This afternoon on the beach, I read a single paragraph in Elizabeth Gilbert's novel Committed that truly hit me. It was so good it made me stop reading to pass the book on to Brian so he could read it too.
"The poet Jack Gilbert (no relation, sadly for me) wrote that marriage is what happens 'between the memorable.' He said that we often look back on our marriages years later, perhaps after one spouse has died, and all we can recall are 'the vacations, and emergencies' --the high points and the low points. The rest of it blends into a blurry sort of daily sameness. But it is that very blurred sameness, the poet argues, that comprises marriage. Marriage is those two thousand indistinguishable conversations, chatted over two thousand indistinguishable breakfasts, where intimacy turns like a slow wheel. How do you measure the worth of becoming that familiar to somebody--so utterly well known and so thoroughly ever-present that you become almost an invisible necessity, like air?"
No comments:
Post a Comment