Love

Right now I am reading Chris Orwig’s Digital Poetry.  It’s part of a home crash course in photography that I’ve designed for myself.  The teacher inside of me is having the time of her life.  To stay organized, I crafted a velcro chart that I titled, “Weekly Personal Goals,” and  included some twelve objectives or so relating to photography and writing that I hope to meet each week.  I reason that as I move along in my photographic education, the objectives on my chart will change, but for now, I have my hands full . . . not to mention it’s hard work toting my camera around with me everywhere I go.

Anyway, I was reading Orwig’s chapter on portraiture.  He writes, “The kind of pictures we make reflects who we are.”  He quotes photographer Chris Rainier, who says, “at some point photography becomes autobiographical.” I keep such wisdom in mind as I attempt to put together a portfolio of my work; each week, I make time to review my photos (I have at least 2 years worth of folders that I think might hold a jewel or two) and I now look at them and wonder how the photograph tells me a little bit more about myself, about my journey as a person.

So, this past weekend, when I photographed my family on Levi’s 5 month birthday, I looked at each frame and wondered, “Where am I in this photo?”  ”What does this portrait say (to me)?”

When I look at the portrait, below, of my husband Matt, what I see is love.  Yes, I see a handsome, happy, complicated guy, but more than that, in his eyes, I almost feel his love pouring through.

When I see this photograph, I think, “Soulmate.”  I believe in soulmates.   But when I first met my husband, it wasn’t all “this is the guy I’m going to marry”; it was more like, “Oh my, this guy is such a pain in the ass.”

Which prompts the following story.

I met my husband in a bar.  I always say this, I said this to the priest who married us, “I’m not the kind of girl who hangs out in bars.”  The priest laughed and told me that he really liked that bar.  Anyway . . . I met my husband in a bar.   I noticed my husband straight away.  Being that I don’t like to be rude, I was dancing with a guy who’d had a few too many and who I didn’t know how to say to, “Uh, why don’t you go dance over there?”  Instead, I waved at a cute preppy looking guy who was walking by.  I know it’s usually a bad idea to label people, but when I saw him, I thought, “He looks smart.”  It was a time in my life when most of the single guys I knew were more concerned about their hair gel and gym membership than whether or not they were improving their minds and the world around them.  I guess I had high expectations of guys.  My husband didn’t disappoint.  We started dancing and talking and learning as much about each other as two people in a very loud, dark bar can learn.  He told me he was an engineer.  I told him I was studying English but that I loved math.  He rolled his eyes. The conversation turned to politics.  I quickly learned that he was, let’s say, a realist, and that I was, in stark contrast to him, an idealist with my head in the clouds (maybe this is why I get so disappointed from time to time?).  As I listened to him talk about his life and his work and his politics, as much as I disagreed with his worldview, his smile and his confidence in himself made me want to hear more.  Even more than that, I understood that he cared about the world we were living . . .  there was more to him than hair gel, :-)  But I did think to myself, “This guy is such a pain in the ass.”  Why was I falling for someone who seemed to be my exact opposite politically?  I was surprised when he asked me to go out with him the next night.

I picked the restaurant. It was a little Japanese restaurant on Maple Avenue. I’d walked by the place a million times and always wished I had someone to go with.  We held hands as we walked down the small staircase into the sushi bar.  The hostess seated us at a table where we were virtually alone except for a very talkative older man who was seated by himself (this made me very curious and so now and again I would glance over to see if I could catch bits and pieces of this gentleman’s very lively conversation with himself).  We ordered sushi, which I’d never had before, and talked a bit more.

Then it was time for pool.  My husband is a pool shark.  I like to move the cue ball around for every shot so that I have half a chance of actually making the shot.  My husband is also a natural teacher.  He didn’t hesitate to show me how to hold the pool stick and position my hands and arms.  You’d think I would be grateful.  I wasn’t.  I was like, “Uh, let me do this myself. I’ll figure it out.”  Very stubborn.  Probably not one of my best qualities, but in any case, I felt myself getting annoyed with all of the help my date was offering in our game of pool.

A few hours later we said goodnight.  The next day he would return to Washington.    I would have to say goodbye to this guy who was a royal pain in the ass but who also could make me double over laughing.  I wanted to see him again.

What was happening to me?  I heard the feminist in me say, “You are so beat.”  Ugh.  I was.

Seven years later, I’m married to this guy.  We’ve been through so much together.  We survived a long distance romance, lost two parents, a brother, gone through job loss and graduate school and me being all over the place professionally, had 2 children, bought a house together, dealt with postpartum depression, and well now, raising our 2 kids.  Through it all, he’s held my hand and reminded me to keep my chin up.  I often wonder how I got so lucky.  Meeting a guy who in every way seemed to challenge me, what I stood for, where I thought my life should go, and the way I saw the world, has opened my heart and eyes to what love is.  It still amazes me.  And he is, and will remain, the greatest pain in my ass and the greatest love in my life.

If only all the photographs I take could evoke so much emotion (for me).  Sigh.