A recent conversation with a friend went something along the lines of her commenting on how strange it was that I haven’t fallen into the rut yet. The rut that marriage supposedly is.
How is it a rut? I ask her. And she stops for a moment and asks back, “How is it not? I mean you wake up every morning next to the same person, go to work, come home, wait for him to come home- you have dinner or go out and poof, its night time and the whole cycle starts again in the morning. Isn’t that a rut? But funnily enough you seem to be enjoying it…”
You can it a rut, or you can call it security or you can even call it life, but when you strip it down to basic generals of existence, nothing sounds exciting. I paused, thinking of how to answer her. And I thought of my day today. Taking full advantage of the chaotic paralysis that is rain in Karachi, k and I enjoyed a breakfast together before setting out to see a movie at the cineplex. Evening time spent at mom’s. Dinner again was just the two of us, getting a chance to catch up on so many things that have been going on. Nothing very different, all kind of…rutty, as she would think.
It’s so easy to define something as a rut or a pattern when we are not an active part of changing it. Or redefining it. It’s so easy to do the same big things everyday and not notice the many different little things we throw in subconsciously to add the spice. For the actual thrills, you have to take out the magnifying glass and peer into the fabric of dailyness to see the funny little extras- the shared laughter over a cartoon in the paper, the car-boat ride to the cineplex through the street-lakes of Karachi, arguing over the hotness factor of Johnny Depp over Orlando Bloom, watching the wedding videos with my sisters yet again, realizing for the umpteenth time in a conversation with him how lucky you are, playing catch with Bong – the non-ruttiness can be endless. But only if you decide to let it be.