For as long as I can remember I wanted an older brother or sister. Between the ages of five and nine I made up a number of imaginary siblings--all older. I created back stories and talked with them in the quiet of my room. I can still remember sitting on my bed in the room with strawberry wall paper and kelly green carpet, talking with Han Solo about school.
(He was my older brother, What?) It doesn't take much training in birth order to tell that being a first born was taxing on me as a child. I wanted someone else to take the lead, bust through the brambles and make my path for me.
I've become more comfortable taking my own lead but a part of me is still more than willing to let someone else jump out front. I am apt to offer directions in a loud and opinionated voice, but you go first. What this really means is that I won't take the fall, or make a mistake or be blamed for a bad idea. In the vernacular of my five year old self--I won't get in trouble. (It also means I often don't get the credit I think I deserve because I've handed over the spotlight.)
Marriage has not helped me. First, I married first born. And while I tend to be the People Pleasing First Born variety. He is, in the categories of Dr. Kevin Leman and
The Birth Order Book, an Aggressive Firstborn. Or least
not a people pleaser. He's very willing to take the lead and push ahead his agenda or idea. There is some balance to our first born-ness. While similar in many ways we also compliment each other in other ways. But one weakness that has developed over twelve years of marriage is that I tend to let him take the lead in decision making. Not in a "he's my husband and thus head of the household" type of way, neither of us want that, but more in a "I'm too chicken to take the lead." type of way. This is true, and a sweeping generalization all at the same time.
(and he might read this and say, "When exactly do I make decisions?" ) Some of what I let him decide about, aren't issues or things I care about. His taking the lead is often purely in name only. I know all the facts. We've discussed the issues. He's heard my opinion--often loud and assertively. I just step back far enough so that if the idea fails, it isn't on me. Not helpful. To either of us.
All of this introspection hit me while shopping at Ikea a few weeks ago. We were in search of a few relatively inexpensive furniture pieces to help organize and make use of our new found space. We shopped a bit and soon realized we weren't able/ready/interested in much of what we found at local stores. Ikea happen to have a few lines right now that we like and I showed the items to Husband. "Why don't you go check them out and see what you think." was what he said. Not much else besides he liked them from the photos and that he'd watch the kids that Saturday if I wanted to go. "Check them out, see if you like them."
I was giddy and a bit overwhelmed all at once. Free to get things I liked, wander a store BY MYSELF, drive three hours in silence
(or in my case, talk to myself)..it sounded so fun.
Husband took all the seats out of our minivan, arranged some rope tie down thingees and gave me a kiss as I went out the door.
I drove a few hours, navigated suburban traffic and as I parked my car next to the big blue box of store I realized how BIG this felt. It hit me as to how long it had been since I had done anything on my own. Forget everything I wrote before this paragraph because in this moment it wasn't about my reliance on Husband or on my friends or on my parents it was this overwhelming realization that I hadn't been alone in a long time. I also hadn't done anything new by myself in ages. In another life nothing about following a map to a new part of town and shopping would have seemed significant but on this day it all was.
It was furniture for a house I had so long waited for. It was gratefulness upon reaching a point where I could be alone. It was the growing pains of adulthood--that I'll never be done stretching myself, that parts of my immature child will always need to be pushed beyond what I feel comfortable doing. And it was Ikea. Swedish meatballs and well designed particle board glory.
I walked the store and found the pieces I wanted to buy. I liked some of them, I crossed a few off my list. I found a few new things I had been thinking about and added them. I figured out how to work the carts and bags and bins in the loading area. I made friends with taller, stronger people...smiling and mustering every ounce of charm I have to encourage help in this 'do it yourself' store.
(here is where one person buying massive amounts of furniture wasn't well thought out) But I did it! I had two carts rolling along towards check out and managed to charm Chicago suburbanites into being pleasant and helpful. Here's where I get ridiculously proud of myself...I even backed my car into the loading area.
(fully aware of how crazy this entry makes me seem.)
It was once all the boxes had been loaded in my car and I had driven off, that the core of this blog entry hit me. I began to cry at the sheer absurdity that my life had become so safe and guided that a shopping trip like this seemed big. My own day to day bravado was reflected back at me and in the reflection I saw how scared I often am by life. How safe I choose to play it. I was so thankful for the gift of that day. For the furniture, for the house, for the resources, for the drive, for the Panera ham sandwich I picked up before driving away...and mostly for the chance to take the lead.
So you may see a simple, pine china cabinet in my living room. You may note the construction or material seems less than expected. But I choose it. Me.
I will always see the day I got to be my own big sister, taking the lead and forging ahead, pushing a big old cart stacked high with make it yourself furniture...
that Husband built for me.
(I get points for full disclosure.)
