It needed to be said, so I said it. I texted the Carpenter early Monday morning with these three important words: You were right.
And he was. It was true. He was right about all of it, everything. He called it. He predicted how the whole thing would play out in advance and it happened exactly the way he said it would. People and their games. Ego chess. The Carpenter called every move.
The outcome was so predictable to him that it didn’t even warrant a second thought, but to me, witnessing the fallout in real-time, was like watching a game from the sidelines. As he predicted, the situation exposed some truths that I needed to see about people I had trusted, patterns that won’t change unless I break them.
That man is gifted with the clarity of seeing reality for what it is, people for who they are, how they will behave and why. Even more amazing, he feels little emotion about it all. He can disassociate from things quickly and with peace of mind, regardless of outcome. It just is what it is. The mysteries of life are crystal clear to him. Me? Dense fog. I walk blindly into the mist in every social dynamic.
My text went on to remind him of what he was correct about, because I know I have bombarded him with many stories lately so he would need a prompt to recall the specific situation to which I was referring.
“You were so right about all of it,” I said. “You are so wise. It’s really annoying.”
His response: a smiley emoji wearing sunglasses. No words. No sarcasm. Just a cool emoji that summed his up his appreciation perfectly. A man of few words.
Thankfully, the Carpenter is not someone who likes to rub his accuracy into the wounds of those who questioned him initially. That’s one of the his best qualities. He doesn’t need to be told he’s right. He already knows that (yes, I really just said that).
Deep down, there is a part of him that wants to be wrong when it’s a situation that’s causing me stress, or someone causing me distress. He would love to fix it, to reassure me the fallout isn’t going to bruise me, that seeing the good in everyone is the right thing to do. That it will all work out the way I hoped.
When it doesn’t work out, when I get hurt, he’s doesn’t say, “I told you so.” He makes popcorn. With butter. It helps.
I figure being married to me is like watching a balloon in a windstorm flying about in a desert full of cactus: precarious at best. And yet, he doesn’t try to change me, or sway me, he just remains on standby to offer advice when I find myself in a thicket of cactus.
As he often reminds me, once you see the truth about someone, you shouldn’t forget it. Go forward, but be aware. Self-respect is a powerful thing. In this scenario, he predicted I’d get that lesson too.
Some people pay for a life coach, but I had the good sense to marry mine. I know the Carpenter loves me for who I am. That I see crystal clear. And I’m grateful.
I’m not sure what value I bring to the table, but that’s a column for another time. Until then, I’ll give credit where credit is due.