A friend shared a poem about jagged relationships. The word caught my attention. There are jagged metal teeth in my sewing machine that propel the fabric at a steady pace. The gears on the tandem bicycle we bought for the twins are jagged as they click into the chain and turn the wheels. My son went rappelling in California and was supported by
each jagged outcrop on the face of the rock wall.
I overheard a comment about autism the other day that grated me. I tossed back a gnarled retort, and continued to stew. The speaker asked me privately about it and wondered why I felt so prickly. Our conversation continued and we finished with some of our rough edges smoothed down. But it was the barb that caught us to begin with. If we had both been flatlined we would never have engaged at
all.
Marriage is a breeding ground for jaggedness. How could it be otherwise? Unless you are participating in a virtual relationship over Facetime, sterile of any annoying habits or cross purposes, there will be friction. Perhaps we begin with the illusion that this is a detour from the primary goal of flawless synchrony. But if we think that a brand new couple is as good as a fifty year old one, why stick around for the second
act?
