I realized today how hard it can be loving a music man. Loving any man is difficult, simply being such different creatures. But a music man...an artist....adds another twist I didn't consider in the beginning. Inherently, you are in competition. For his time, yes. His attention, yes. And it feels like a test of my love for him how I respond to the competition.
It isn't a hobby, a habit, or an addiction. It is his PASSION. Does any woman want to admit that her husband has more passion for his art than he does for her? Of course not.
I simultaneously support, admire and detest his passion. To see him in action, whether it be rocking a stage, producing a record, mentoring our son (the emerging drummer), planning the music for a Sunday worship service, changing strings on a guitar, writing songs, building a studio etc etc etc etc...is to witness TALENT. He is doing exactly what he should be doing, what he was BORN to do, using the talents he was blessed with. For anyone, in any way to interfere with that force of nature..... is just wrong.
And I stand in the shadows, offstage.
Most days, I am uber-comfortable with that position. I've always been an offstage kinda gal. I am comfortable in the sidelines. The two best friends I've had in my whole life .....I was/am the sidekick. That is my place. I like my place. I LIKE MY CAVE.
Most days.
Is some of this speech bravado? Of course. Do I ever wish that I for once was the center of attention? You bet!
But I yam what I yam, and that's all that I yam. Maybe in the striving to be something I'm not is where the pain comes in.
Play that funky music, white boy. I will forever love you, nonetheless.
'da Wife.
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