I once had aspirations of doing a project where I was going to post sections of a book I'm (still!) trying to write on romance, but life got in the way.  It has a tendency of doing that for me--I start something, it goes well, then I get overcommitted and stuff falls apart.  

But in this case, despite delays, I'm pressing ahead.  And since I changed jobs to a position that doesn't force me to work more than 70 hours a week, I've started to get my writing groove back.

So here we return to it.  The previous installment is here, and someday I'll put together a full list of posts.  But if you haven't been with us yet, that's okay.  I'm starting fresh (for seemingly the 15th time!).  You can start fresh with us.  To the book, then:

My wife and I fell in love in a library. It was, for us, the most romantic thing we could possibly do. As our romance slowly developed, we would spend long hours in the reading room at our fine institution’s center of learning reading, writing, and (above all) discussing the deep things of God. Judging by the responses of other patrons, our conversations were frequently disruptive, though the ‘Shhh’s” we incurred were at least as loud as our muffled laughter.

Not that I feel particularly bad about this. We had, after all, much to learn about each other then (and even more now, it seems!). In our explorations, we slowly grew closer together, eventually reaching the point where it was evident to both of us that we had romantic aspirations.

That doesn’t mean the process was easy, or smooth. We had a typical DTR, and then had to have another the next day. Apparently, I wasn’t particularly clear in ‘defining’ the relationship the first time around. And much of the early days of our relationship were marked by the typical ambiguities and anxieties that often accompany blossoming romances. The unknowns of the future made it difficult to see where the relationship was heading, and my uncertainties about her level of commitment to the relationship only induced more stress.

This sense of anxiety—all the more pronounced, I think, because of the fact that I had been broken up with several times prior—came to a head when I raised the subject of getting engaged, only to be (temporarily) rebuffed. I, largely driven by those insecurities, wanted to ‘seal the deal.’ My wife, however, would have none of it. She informed me, graciously, that while she wanted to get married, she simply wasn’t ready. And as so often happens, the experience of not getting my own way exposed the extent to which I had grounded my own self-identity on her acceptance and willingness to acquiesce. Saying no, at least at the start, was precisely what I needed and a crucial moment in moving our relationship toward a more healthy foundation.

The previous chapter focused on the problem; this is the chapter that you should be particularly wary of, as it is here that I attempt to move toward a solution and attempt to describe a way of life and being in relationship in such a way that our identities are not derived from the opinions and perspectives of those around us. This alternative is not a life of independence, but a life of interdependence—a relationship of mutual support and comfort wherein the basic movement of the relationship is not taking, but giving. Our external orientation—our life for others—is a result of a prior work done in us, that restores and heals us.

Exit question:  what would you think if I changed the whole tone of the book to make it more personal?  I specifically avoided making it too personal for a long time, as I wanted it to be 'taken seriously' as a substantive treatment of the issues.  But I'm starting to think that was a bad decision, and that I really should have a much more intimate and self-revelatory approach.  I don't want it to be trite or narcissistic, but I have also realized just how much my insights are shaped by my story.  I can describe how this might look in more detail if you want, but for now I just want to guage reactions.  Thoughts?