Surviving Our Mixed Marriage

No, I’m not talking race, religion, or politics. But I am talking about a difference so challenging, so fraught with misunderstanding, so bewildering, we’ve wondered how our union takes it. Randy is an extrovert. I’m an introvert. Yet as the decades have rolled along, we’ve learned specific ways of coping with each other’s personalities.

What he does for me:

He tolerates earlier dinner reservations—When younger, it didn’t matter what time we hit the restaurants. In fact, the later and more filled the better! But then something funny happened. Maybe it was having children. Maybe it was getting older. Now I like getting to a restaurant early (I swear, I don’t even mind 5:00 p.m.). Unlike Randy, I no longer seek crowded and noisy, but thankfully he understands and doesn’t mind being an early bird.

He leaves events sooner than he’d like—I have a 2–3 hour window of entertainment energy, no matter what form it takes. Whether a movie, going to listen to a band, or just dinner with friends, my clock runs out quicker than his. After a while, I need to curl up with Netflix and tune the world out. So, when Randy sees that haunted look in my eyes after we’ve lingered at the party too long, he knows my fuel tank is running low. He leaves earlier than he’d like and I’m grateful.

He entertains less than he’d like—Poor Randy. We have a wonderful house for dinner parties. It’s spacious with a great kitchen and nicely laid out floor plan. But alas, he has a lazy wife when it comes to having lots of people over. Besides family for the holidays, I rarely play hostess. I love our friends. But as I’ve grown older, socializing taps me out. I get mentally and emotionally tired, planning all those details and making sure everyone is happy. As an extrovert, Randy doesn’t love that side of me, but he understands.

What I do for him:

I let “Randy be Randy”—On the rare occasions we do entertain, by the end of dinner, I’ve learned to give into the extrovert energy that sweeps over my husband. By the third hour, Randy is just coming into his own. The music gets louder. The conversations spicier. The jokes more raucous. Meanwhile, I’m exhausted and could crawl into a fetal position under the table. Instead, I’ve learned to sit there and smile, watching Randy revving his social engines to the delight of all.

I understand his need for connection—With Randy, everyone is a friend. If we have extra hours before dinner in a Manhattan hotel room, Randy loves sitting at the bar, striking up conversations with strangers. He enjoys nothing more than nursing a glass of red and asking people their life stories. Me? I’m in the hotel room, reading. While Randy is laughing and regaling strangers with funny tales, I’m quietly writing in my journal, the sounds of the city playing out below.

I let him go—Randy thinks nothing of spending a busy day in New York and then either seeing a band that night or playing in the band! I know spouses who need lots of togetherness and thank goodness, we’re not one of them. We love each other’s company but give each other space when needed. We’ve learned to be considerate of our differences. And in his defense, I’ve changed more over the years. Randy has always been Randy. He’s had to adjust more than me.

But I guess that’s marriage. The yin and yang are what make life interesting. When I know a shy person will be at a gathering, who do I put them next to? Yes, Randy. At the same time, when he has a companion who loves to talk about the New Times crossword puzzle or the latest Ann Patchett novel, he puts them next to me.

Phew. There are ways to cope with a mixed marriage after all.

 

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