My dreams are crazy. They are vivid and nonsensical. My husband doesn’t dream at all, or if he does he has absolutely no recollection of them whatsoever. He never understands my dreams (not that I do) or why they can feel so real to me that I wake up mad or scared or fully believing we have a pet alligator that tried to eat our dog. It really doesn’t make much sense to me either, but this is how my dreams have been my entire life. This is entirely fitting to our personalities.
My husband is a fix-it kind of guy. He hears a problem and immediately will brainstorm how to fix it. This is his creative side. It is this realistic creativity that I genuinely cannot understand. When I hear a problem, I think of the most ridiculous way to remedy it. I go big or go home, if you will.
Say your dog ran away. My response would be to print a million paper flyers. Go door to door and pass them out. Talk to every person on the street that we could. Phone all news and radio stations. Then we would see how much it would cost to rent a billboard along the highway or maybe invest in some air time on all local stations. I’m sure Sarah McLachlan would be more than willing to jump on board with our cause. A dog is in danger. See how my mind goes BIG?
My husband’s response would be calm and consist of way less crazy. His first step would be to call the local animal control and make them aware that a dog is missing. Then he would probably drive around and look for the dog. If that didn’t work, he would patiently wait for whomever found the dog to call the number on the tag hanging from its collar. Simple, right?
I can’t tell you how many times I have called my husband for directions. I am typically in a panic because my mind doesn’t compute which way to leave a parking lot. Yes, I sometimes don’t know which way to go. A lot.
Me: If I am leaving Target, which way would I go to get to the highway?
Husband: You need to leave the parking lot and go east.
Me: *&%^$#@!!! Really? Am I supposed to have a compass?! Am I hiking in the early
1900s? Am I Les Stroud? The only time I know which way is east is when the sun
rises. It is noon. Left or right?
Husband: Go left, Stefanie.
Me: Thanks. Love you.
Notice how my husband remains completely calm, and I sound like Kate Gosselin with eight kids in a grocery store.
I make everything into a production. It is just how I am wired. Some people call it being dramatic, which is rude. Other people will say I make things harder than they have to be. This is more accurate, but just as rude. I call it MY LIFE. I once cried because we didn’t have any milk in the house. I don’t even like milk. This is my life.
If you were to drop me off five miles from my home in an area I don’t know my way around, I would call my dad to come find me. I probably would not move. I may locate a street sign, but soon after, I would curl up into a ball and pray to Jesus that my dad would find me and then drive me by Wendy’s on the way home. Dropping my husband off five miles from home in an area that he doesn’t know his way around would be impossible. My husband knows all areas everywhere. That’s how he was born. He knows which way is east, even if he is without a compass and the sun gives no indication. He is who you find when you want to survive an apocalypse of some sort. I will be hiding in an attic with bottled water and a gun. He will be forging paths and constructing new towns in the forest. I will be crying because the internet is no longer a thing and I have no access to Pinterest.
When Jerry McGuire told that one girl that she completed him, I thought he was a weirdo. Only Jesus can do that, Jerry. Get your life together. But maybe Jerry did have his life together. Maybe he knew that he needed Renee Zellweger to help him be a better person. Jerry could try to run a business on his own. He didn’t NEED her. Renee seemed to be doing a good job parenting that little boy with glasses all on her own. She was surviving without a man.
But what if Jerry wasn’t a good navigator? What if he didn’t know which way was east? What if Renee did? What if Jerry was a more patient parent than Renee? What if Jerry honestly needed Renee to survive?
Maybe Jesus made him that way.
Maybe Jesus made Renee that way.
Maybe Jesus made us ALL that way.
I don’t believe in soul mates. I don’t believe there is one person on this Earth that completes us. I also don’t believe we were made to live this life alone. I believe we are supposed to surround ourselves with people who complete us. Friends, boyfriends, wives, kids, family, etc. We need people.
Imagine how long I would last in an attic with my bottled water, not knowing which way is east. I would rock back and forth due to Instagram withdrawals. Eventually, my bottle of water would be empty, and I would paint a face on it with my own blood, Castaway style. I would call it Jamie. It would be genderless. We would have conversations about a world forgotten and what life was like with reality television. This would all happen within the first 10-12 hours. Then my husband would bring all our friends and family to the house to lure me out of the attic with food.