Readers over Roses : Middle Aged Love

Last year, much to his dismay, my husband had to start wearing reading glasses. Like many middle-aged people, he has several inexpensive pairs scattered about our home. His favorites, however, are a tortoise-shell clicker set with a magnetic nose bridge and a band around his neck. 

After dinner most evenings, Ryland assumes his place behind his laptop, catching up on work. I buzz in and out as I recall topics in need of discussion. 

Right around this time, we both started to notice our nightly discussions frequently took a sharper tone. I was more defensive and found myself feeling unfairly questioned or judged over the slightest things. One night we confronted this head-on. What is going on? Why are relatively simple conversations feeling sharp and frustrating? Neither of us could pinpoint any significant marital issue. Then it hit us...it was the readers!

When I would walk into the room to ask a question, seated Ryland would lower his chin and gaze at me over his glasses. This position caused his forehead to wrinkle and his brow to furrow--and as ashamed as I am to admit it publicly, this Enneagram 8 received it immediately as being 'parented' or judged by my spouse. I would become unnecessarily defensive simply because of the signals this body language sent. (I am sure this sounds ridiculous to people who aren't wired like me, but I am just being honest. I wish I weren't this way, but it's one of my issues.)

For the next several nights we tried an experiment, as we started talking, instead of peering at me over his readers he would remove them--and suddenly openness and good attitudes were restored. With the sound of the magnetic click of removal, I exhaled. 

And then one night after dinner, I walked in to find him signing off on charts in his work safety goggles. I started giggling and asked,  "What are you doing in those?"

"Well," he replied with a grin, "they have magnifying lenses built-in and they look so ridiculous I thought it would be hard for you to feel judged while I was wearing them."

He was right. Those goggles have had the exact opposite effect. They make me feel known, accepted, and loved. When he looks up from his work, even if it is a harder conversation, I am softened by the immediate reminder that if he's willing to look silly on account of my insecurities, I can rest assured we are on the same team. Such a simple, humble adjustment in response to my idiosyncrasy is a nightly reminder of his care for me.

This isn't exactly the kind of love story we tell young people...that after a couple of decades very unsexy safety goggles will mean more than chocolates or flowers, but this is the beauty of old love.  I don't need flashy or expensive, just a man whose actions reflect his sacrificial love for the real, quirky me.