Sam has a question for a legal expert.

He wants to know, hypothetically of course, if divorce court judges are sympathetic to husbands whose wives don’t listen to them.

When said wives, continuing the hypothetical, hear their beloved husband say something for years and years and years and always respond by saying, “Eh, I’m not sure that’s right.”

Then, when that same wife hears Liz Gilbert express the exact same idea, she immediately says, “THIS IS BRILLIANT,” then writes about it in her blog.

Come to think of it, I may have the same question. Would a judge be sympathetic to the husband in such a case? I certainly hope not. I like to be the one who gets the sympathy. In 2011, a rehab therapist asked 22-year-old Keely if she wanted to include, “Plays favorites” on her list of, “What does the Higher Power of your understanding look like?” (Recovery is very much about spirituality.) The actual response that came out of baby Keely’s mouth? “Are there steps I can take to ensure that I’m one of the favorites? Because, if so, I’m good with that.”

Not that this is about me, of course.

Well, I suppose I’ve left too many clues and anyone who knows Sam and I can see that this is, in fact, about us.

Because for years (and years and years), my very wise husband has tried to convince me that your job doesn’t have to be your passion. Specifically, he’s asserted that your job doesn’t have to make you happy every moment of every day. It’s called work, after all.

And I’ve said…meh. Doesn’t sound right to me.

Then I would proceed to talk about the people I knew (on the Internet, not in real life) who had found jobs that were their passion, that lit them up with perpetual joy, that made them millions and millions of dollars while also fulfilling them on a soul level.

Naturally, as one of God’s favorites (please read that phrase in a poking-fun-at-myself tone), such a job was in cards for me.

Then, Sam watched as I got more and more miserable in every job I had until I eventually stopped working altogether (thanks, sky-high expectations).

Meanwhile, Sam, with much more realistic expectations about the role of work in life, soared to higher and higher heights.

Interesting, huh?

What was missing, of course, was language that I could wrap my head around. Sam’s concept was absolutely right. But the way he was expressing it just didn’t jive for me.

That may sound odd to those of you with perfect communication skills who are on the same page with every single human you interact with, but it’s not that odd in my household. In fact, Sam has told me that he understands roughly 50% of what comes out of my mouth.

Not because my ideas go over his head–Sam’s a brilliant man and most of the things I like to ponder are actually fairly basic concepts.

But because his inner world is different than my inner world.

When I try to talk about what’s going on inside of me, it can be like I’m speaking in Spanish. When Sam talks about ideas that are floating around in his brain, it can be like he’s speaking in Chinese.

Not always, thankfully, but sometimes.

So, sometimes for an idea to click for me, I need to hear it in my native language. For an idea to click for Sam, he needs to hear it in his. Can we have a happy, healthy, thriving marriage without native-level fluency in each other’s primary language? Yes. Absolutely.

But some things you just need to hear in a way that aligns with how you talk to yourself.

That’s part of the reason I write so much. Almost every aha moment I’ve had in my life came from hearing an idea expressed in a way that clicked for me–even if I’d already heard that same idea a hundred times before.

When I write and write, yammering on about whatever I’m mulling over that day, I hope that the thousands of words I’m spewing out will make their way in front of someone who speaks my language. Someone who can say, “Ah, yes. That clicks for me.”

And, fortunately for my writer’s ego, I’ve learned that I shouldn’t expect that to be true for everyone. I shouldn’t even expect it to be true for 1% of the population.

Thank goodness. It’s so liberating to type away without having to expect most people to like what you write. Another one of my wise hubby’s favorite concepts:

Happiness = reality - expectations

Wishing you a day of encountering ideas that light you up–in whatever language you need to hear them.

P.S. For a fun twist of irony: I think that Sam first heard the “Happiness = reality - expectations” equation from me. He’s adamant that he didn’t. What do you think about that, judge?

P.P.S. I’m working on compiling the information I’ve encountered about “the right-sized role of work” and I’ll hopefully have something to share soon!

P.P.P.S. Yesterday, Sam and I resumed our couple’s book club. Here’s how it went: