The other day I was trying to prepare for my journey group. The topic that week was Gratitude for Love. Sounds friendly enough. But my mind kept drifting to the stacks of dirty dishes in the sink. We have a loose system of dish duty, and the person whose day it was had not seemed to notice. I feel stuck between nagging, coughing loudly in the direction of the kitchen or doing them myself. Those thoughts were incompatible with gratitude. Or love. It was annoying. 

Another day I was cognizant of the promise John had made to tackle a chore. He was particularly busy that week, and we had less than the Daily Requirement of Time Spent Together, as dictated by the Federal Office of Matrimony. If there was one. But that reminder sat perched on my tongue, ready to fire at him the next time I saw the whites of his eyes. 

A vague awareness seeped into my brain, that my intention to Steer him in a predetermined Direction was incompatible with smiling when he walked in the door. Or asking about his day and wanting to hear the answer. 

Incompatibility is the reason some people give for ending a marriage. Two people decide that they can no longer live together. When I face the incompatibility of love with coercion, or criticism, or blame, I have a choice about which one needs to move out.