It’s Valentine’s Day and a friend just asked for advice about planning a safari, so it seems appropriate to re-post this meditation on love, marriage, shit, and rainbows. You know, just your basic extended metaphor but with hippos.
One of the gifts, for me, of being on safari, is all the time spent in the jeep staring out at the landscape as we drive around looking for animals, birds, whatever. Of course, that’s also sort of the downside, too: you spend a lot of time looking for things and sometimes you’re lucky…and sometimes you’re not. It is the proverbial crap shoot, with a literal emphasis on crap (more about that in a minute).
As it happened, this safari of ours happened a week before Husband and I celebrated our fifteenth anniversary. Fifteen years starts to be a rather long time, don’t you think? Which is fantastic and also means that we are getting freaking old.
The two things started to come together in my mind as we drove around (or actually, as we were driven by our guides–the marvelously named Jelly, in Samburu, and Daniel, in the Mara), and I started to think that maybe safaris and marriages aren’t really that different, when you get right down to it.
Consider: when you first get married, you’re all we’re married! There’s that whole happily ever after thing, which lasts for …maybe a week/month/year and then it starts to be weird toenail clippings, and undone laundry, and why do you have to straighten up when I’m napping on the couch, and whose turn is it to do the laundry, and why am I taking care of the kids, and for the love of god get off the computer, and no we’re too tired/poor/busy to go to a party/dinner/theater/movie, and who messed with my Netflix queue? (At least, that’s what I hear from other married people. Husband and I have had fifteen years of uninterrupted bliss.)
Life starts to look a lot like this, except without the little birds:
Consider: on your first day of safari, you’re all safari! And you take pictures of everything, thanking the lord that someone invented digital photography: you’ve got thousands of pictures of the jeep, your camp, the guide, each other, the hotel manager’s pet dog. It’s all vastly, amazingly exciting. You see A LION. You see AN ELEPHANT. And it’s exhilarating and amazing, until it starts to be a little bit of LOOK! A BIG BIRD THAT MIGHT BE AN EAGLE OVER THERE. NO, OVER THERE. And you jounce and jolt along the trails, hour after hour, and it’s mostly amazing…and a lot of grass. You bounce along, bumpety bumpety, and you get closer and closer to Maybe It’s Something and…it’s a rock. Or a tree. Or a bunch of rocks. Or a warthog. Which is like a rock but with tusks and a little tail.
See the analogy? Bouncing along, never quite knowing what you’re going to find? One day you’re incredibly lucky and fulfill every fantasy you ever had about being a photographer for National Geographic, and then it’s hours of driving along looking at the same trees you saw yesterday and the day before. And they’re very nice trees, you know, and you’re very happy to be on safari but…is this it? Driving around looking for stuff?
Here’s another thing: when you embark on marriage, or on a safari, no one tells you how much you’re going to learn about poo. Whether you’re married with children or without, other people’s poo will become your business. It should be written into all marriage contracts—anyone settling into a long-term partnership, gay or straight, married or just shacking up—that separate bathrooms are a prerequisite. Because really. Do any of us need to know our beloveds that intimately?
On our last safari, we learned a lot about poop, which surprised me and meant that I was a little bit more prepared for stuff that looks like this:
Those of you with cats might have a sense of what we’re looking at: crap with fur in it. Which is to say, furry shit. You might think, oh my cat who grooms herself and had a fur-ball left something like that in the litterbox (although actually fur-balls make cats puke, so front end and not back end). Nope.
That there is lion poop. A lion what ate an antelope fairly recently. Fur, it seems, isn’t digestible.
Aren’t you glad you know that? You’re welcome.
So yes, you get out of the jeep sometimes, look at poop, or at ants, because hey, that’s what the safari threw you that day. And so it is with marriage: roses one day, yelling about the laundry the next.
But sometimes, just as you’re getting completely fed up, there are rainbows in a cloudy sky.
I love the word jounce. I’m not sure I’d like a safari. Too little sense of control. Stabby.
Christie recently posted..Cheering On My Administrative Assistant Self: Better Late Than Never
you would love it…it’s so beautiful & there is something lovely about having to just…”let go,” as they say…
My anniversary is coming up next month and I’m thinking there has to work “fur-poop” into the toast.
Hope overall it was a great trip. It seems like an amazing experience.
Michelle Longo recently posted..Please Stop Calling Me.
“furry poop” is like the new black. Always appropriate and goes with everything.
“…or at ants, because hey, that’s what the safari threw you that day.”
Because I live in a cardboard suburb, my safari is an ant safari every single day. I’d kill for some pooped out antelope.
Erica M recently posted..yeah write #125 weekly challenge is open for submissions: personal essays and traditional blog anecdotes
Yeah. The furry poop is very cool. So is marriage. Mostly.
What an awesome analogy!!!
Loved this post. And yup, done the safari thing. You’re right. 🙂
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