It’s my first anonymous guest blog! I mean, someone else writing anonymously for my blog.
While writing this post on moving in together, I wondered if other couples I knew had the same experience. Did they feel more independent after moving in together? If yes or no, why? And what were some things they learned about each other and their relationship in the process? I first asked my friends John and Jane (names changed to protect privacy and save face, because apparently John was kind of gross), because I knew both of them from a fairly young age and recognized, even without understanding the deeper stuff a relationship consisted of, some superficial incompatibilities between them. Mostly, John liked to fly by the seat of his pants and Jane had her life planned out in five minute increments. But from watching them interact, I learned that the superficial things can, if you let them, remain superficial things. But I’ll let them explain in more detail.
First, the stats! They met in 1991 when they were kids at a party thrown by mutual friends of their parents. John was 9 and Jane was 10. She was a head taller but they smiled at each other and Jane went home that night and wrote in her diary, “I met a boy named John tonight. He was very nice.” They started dating in 2003, moved in together in 2007, and married in 2009. For those of you too lazy to do the math, they recently celebrated their 6th wedding anniversary and they have a really cute kid.
Below is John’s response, written probably, while he was listening to Snoop Dogg. I’ll post Jane’s response tomorrow.
Wow you’re asking me to dig deep here, cause 2007 felt like a looong ass time ago. Let’s see… I wouldn’t say I felt more independent. I felt more tied to the hip, actually. It took some adjusting.
I was used to farting, letting clothes pile up to new heights, leaving dishes in the sink till them roaches got all up in there to feast, sleeping late, etc. etc. Jane definitely did not prefer to operate this way. So I made changes. We both made changes – my sorry ass lowered her standards (and tolerance) closer to my level. I, on the other hand, had to up my game a bit in this regard. When I went out, I had to think about how late to come home so she wouldn’t stay up waiting for me. When I left to do anything, I had to report where I was going and when I was going to be back.
I couldn’t turn up my Snoop Dogg no mo’.
I couldn’t watch violent fights or stupid ass shows like COPS on the TV, full blast. I had to share my blanket. I couldn’t sleep with the window wide open anymore. I couldn’t go shooting or fishing anytime I wanted to anymore. I couldn’t have friends over drinking and actin’ a fool anytime I felt like it anymore. None of this stuff made me feel more independent. It made me feel the exact opposite.
But. What I also felt was awesome companionship. Someone I could sing a song to, someone I could cook for and share a good meal with; someone I could drink with (me: beer, her: orange juice), someone I could snuggle with, someone who would laugh at my dumb jokes.
Someone I could tickle.
Someone I could share meaningful conversations with at 2AM; someone I could wake up next to, someone I could laugh, cry and grow with… all on demand.
That part was all very cool.
Sometimes we’d fight. In fact, we probably fought more after moving in together. And I’d hate her guts when we did. But we’d get over it, talk about it, talk about how we could mutually make adjustments next time. And each time, we’d get a little better at the whole thing.
Then one day, we got married. And the rest is history. That’s all I got for you.
Thanks for sharing, John!