It is early. The morning sun has not yet revealed the outline of the mountains in the eastern sky. My children dream, warm in their beds, while I sip my decaf coffee with soy milk, and ponder.
The hermit crab travels about with her home upon her back. Wherever she travels, her dwelling follows. Never parted from it, she finds fault with the minutest detail. One day, another shell catches her eye, and she chooses to leave behind her old, flawed home for the new, better home. She cannot imagine as she settles in that she will ever be dissatisfied with this home. But within hours she’s finding fault again and yearning for just the smallest adjustment.
My beloved and I are so close in our daily lives that I find it difficult to see the beauty in him. In that sense, this separation is a blessing. It has removed him a far enough distance that I can see his beauty clearly while his faults have become indistinct. I do not need my husband for my physical survival the way that the hermit crab needs her shell. But like the hermit crab, I know that within all too short a time, I will become familiar with my husband’s habits once more and will find fault in the smallest detail.
In mere hours we will be reunited. In just a dawning, a day, and another sunset he will return. In a moment, the length of our separation will melt away. My heart beats in anticipation of his return, but in these hours, I will revel in his perfection, knowing that very shortly he will cease to be the perfect object of my hope and adoration and will become once again simply the man I love.
Hark! My son beckons. My moment of solitary reverie has passed like a cloud before the sun. Thus begins my day of caring for my children, preparing food, cleaning messes, supervising the creation of generic Shrinky Dinks, and awaiting the safe return of my spouse after the sun has set once more.
Imperfect Happiness 