On a sweltering Sunday afternoon in June 2019, my husband — a 50-year-old lawyer who usually dons a suit and tie — sprawled out on the sun-heated pavement of a gas station, while I mirrored his position on the other side of our Honda Fit, trying to diagnose the mysterious flapping sound coming from beneath the car.
“It looks like some screws might’ve come loose,” Mark said, gesturing toward a large shield dangling precariously between the front tires. Seeing the issue brought a sense of relief, as neither of us had much knowledge about cars. Perhaps, just perhaps, we could avoid a breakdown in the remote areas of Michigan or losing any more precious time.
We were already running late. Mark’s childhood friend — Alex, whom we hadn’t seen in over a decade — was tying the knot with a woman from the Dominican Republic, where Alex owned a bar, although he primarily resided in Nashville. There hadn’t been a formal invitation; instead, Mark received a call a month or so prior, asking us to attend a wedding at a vineyard near Traverse City, about four hours away.
The exact time for the ceremony had been uncertain until just before we departed. “It’s either at four or four-thirty,” Alex informed Mark. We shared bemused glances, recalling our own wedding nearly 16 years earlier, held in an Ann Arbor theater where we screened “When Harry Met Sally” as part of the festivities.
Having spent years apart while I pursued graduate studies in various states, we each changed significantly during that time. I often wondered if those long-distance phases contributed to our ability to navigate life together. Now, when frustrations arise, we no longer ask ourselves, “Can I live with this?” Instead, we think, “I am living with this. How do we move forward?”
As we resumed our journey, the car’s undercarriage emitted a rhythmic knocking sound, prompting me to voice a thought we both shared: “This trip might just be jinxed.”
In addition to our car troubles, Mark had misplaced his wallet two days earlier, rendering him unable to drive or pay for anything, which added to his anxiety. We had also struggled to get our two daughters to their grandmother’s house, located a half-hour in the opposite direction. To make matters worse, about two hours into our drive, Mark suddenly exclaimed, “Oh no! I forgot my wedding attire.” He had left his carefully pressed shirt, jacket, and tie hanging in the closet.
As Mark vented his frustration, an outlet mall came into view, and I quickly took the exit. “These shirts are terrible!” he shouted as we browsed through the American Eagle store, his voice rising above the chatter of other shoppers. “I’ll look ridiculous in this! These aren’t even my size! We’re wasting $80 on some ugly shirt I’ll never wear again.”
Yet moments later, I stifled a grin as I handed over my credit card for a $37 blue button-down that, while a bit snug, would suffice paired with his khakis. “This mall detour was well-timed,” I remarked, proud of myself for solving this particular issue.
Mark remained sour, probably because it was easier for me to maintain a cheerful demeanor, given that I had both my wallet and my own packed clothes. I was merely the “plus one” for this wedding, after all. However, I also craved the sense of competence that had faded since my unexpected layoff three years prior from a job I had held for over a decade as an arts reporter. Since then, I hadn’t been able to secure a stable position, often feeling abandoned by the “real” world of work.
Despite having a steady stream of freelance gigs that provide a modest income, Mark’s demanding legal career is what keeps our mortgage afloat. As a feminist with a strong educational background, this reality often stings my self-esteem.
But on that chaotic day in June, I proved my worth. We were still racing to the wedding, but at Mark’s suggestion, we made a quick stop at a fast food drive-thru for lunch, followed by a stop to grab last-minute wedding gifts: locally-made liquors, which Mark would present to the couple in a bland Walmart bag. “Who do we think we are, Kid Rock?” I joked.
After arriving at our roadside motel at 3:45 p.m., we changed clothes and drove up the hill to Alex’s wedding, arriving at — you guessed it — 3:59. It had been a challenging day, yet I couldn’t help but smile.
Why? As Mark Manson writes in “The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck,” “Happiness comes from solving problems.” It’s unrealistic to hope for a life devoid of challenges. Instead, true contentment arises from feeling equipped to tackle whatever comes our way.
In the aftermath of my layoff, I had felt like a mere accessory in our marriage, an outdated relic. But on this chaotic day, against all odds, I navigated the obstacles life threw at us, ensuring we made it to the wedding on time.
Sometimes, enduring a tough day together can reinvigorate your sense of connection and vitality. As we finally settled into our folding chairs on that breezy hill, hand in hand, we watched the bride arrive in a golf cart, pondering the meaning of the couple’s vows delivered entirely in Spanish.
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In summary, a seemingly disastrous road trip turned into a pivotal moment for my marriage. Through a series of unfortunate events, we found resilience and connection that reminded us of the strength of our partnership. The challenges we faced together ultimately brought us closer, allowing us to appreciate the journey, no matter how chaotic.