Sorry for staying gone so long, but after I posted that first message I kind of retracted into my own little corner of the world in attempts to figure out what exactly I wanted.
I think I know, and if it means some view me as too selfish, well, go ahead. But as much as I pour my heart and soul into other people, I want to see it poured back into me.
Before the second or third date -- if I feel like it's even got a chance to go anywhere -- I'll sit them down and have a nice long talk with them. "My job can really suck at times. Fall? Horrible. In the summer, however, I won't do jack for weeks on end, and you'll get tired of me."
They always say, "Oh, I know." That's when I tell them, "No, you really don't. If you're independent, this might work. If you're not, it's been real, and you're a lovely lady, and I wish you the best."
My first wife was the perfect picture of what I thought could work. Independent almost to a fault. Was in real estate, so, she had crazy hours, too, showing houses on Saturdays and random evenings. She made a few friends in town that were coaches wives, and during the fall they'd hang out together calling themselves, "The Football Widows." For Christ sake, they had shirts made at one point.
But I knew it was going down a bad road when I got my first big interview (200K circulation). "I don't like the town," she said. Fair enough. Not two months later, slightly smaller paper ... same deal. "OK," I asked her, "tell me where you WILL go." She gave me an area, I wasn't overly fond of it, but we compromised on the fact that if sports came up there, we'd go. If not, I'd redefine my career toward news. (I'm not totally against that, btw.)
We talked from time to time about kids, but she (and I, too) enjoyed blowing money out our butts whenever we wanted to. Then all of a sudden, a switch flipped. She left right before football season. Was our marriage perfect otherwise? No. But it was the only thing she didn't want to work through. And I know she loved me because she told me she wouldn't let me quit my job, because she knew it'd rip out part of my soul and would never be able to live with herself.
I don't hate her, she doesn't hate me. We still talk from time to time, mainly because we've got the same group of friends, and she always wants to know what's the "off the record" dirt or I heard you ask a question on TV (not that that happens a lot), but it means she still cares, I guess. And she was a college athlete, too, so I always thought that helped.
Some signs, maybe, but she changed before I did.
The new one -- and I swear I was very selective -- was great to begin with. Cool with the job. Cool with the hours. Loved my lazy summer. Then fall, now spring, and maybe I'm just gun shy. We even went so far as to lay things out in great detail ... Marriage and then, her words, after being married for a few years when we start to have kids, you leave sports. I was fine with that compromise.
But now, I feel pissed off because I feel like she's rushing me out of sports before we're even engaged. To me, that's not fair.
I don't like my hours, but it's evident I don't have it as bad as others here do. I'm home three, four nights a week. Some nights there are phone calls, but it's not all that often. If I do anything for myself -- which is the rare round of golf -- I play during the day while she's at work.
I pour myself into the relationship and work my ass off to make up for the times I'm not there. People would not understand the lengths I go to to make the other person's life easier, brighter, go without sleep to wake up at the butt-crack of dawn to go do things she wants to do or go by her house while she's at work to do her laundry or her dishes. The "just because" things I bring her at least every two weeks. And her ex was a piece of crap. I mean at the very least be happy I have a job ... unlike him when they divorced.
I guess what I'm looking for, and am coming to the realization that I may never find, is somebody who sees the world as I do: I love for people to be passionate about things, whatever they may be. Let me be passionate. Be happy and proud that I'm damn good at my career (Much like I thought my first wife was; she once told me, "I'll have a job, and you can have the career.")
I know it can work. I've seen it happen. Two guys I work with are married -- one is just into double-digit years and the other is into a few decades.
I will take to my grave the words that I heard an old sports writer tell me once. He was talking about his wife, who'd passed away some years back and was recalling their wedding day.
"She had no idea when she said, 'I do,' that she was really saying, 'I'll do without,'" he told us.
But she did until her dying day with him still in the business. Hell, his son is in the business. And yeah, you can say that people put up with more **** back then than they do today, or did they just know the real meaning of love? Maybe that's what I'm chasing.
The only marriage in my family I ever saw work was my grandparents. He worked swing shift at a mill for the better part of his working life. Five days on first shift, two off, four on second, three off, four on third, three off. Wash, rinse, repeat. And those two people loved each other like Hollywood writes about.
Maybe I'll never find that, but I pray to God I will. Until then, I'm a ways from 40 and I've got a career I love, and so far, it's loved me back for the better part of 12 years. In that, I'm lucky as hell.
I'm just terrified -- because I've seen my parents and aunts and uncles -- all NOT be journalists and their marriages not work out, either.
Gamble on love and throw away the other? Maybe I'm just too scared of a new one of either. And too selfish.