Last week when Megan came home from a meeting, I was bursting with excitement, on the verge of jumping from my chair and miraculously running a victory lap.
Our new company logo had been designed and we had received proofs for final approval. Finally viewing the logo spurred me into "go" mode; the biggest hurdle to unveiling our new brand seemed finally past us, and we could begin working with new youth and family clients.
I greeted Megan at the door with a burst of laughter and a 10-foot long list of emails and website updates I had cranked out over the last two hours.
Almost at once, her smile transformed into the stare of one who had just witnessed the stupidity of a lemming hurling head-first into unknown waters.
I paused briefly, "What's wrong?" I hadn't the faintest clue why my actions would have put her off.
"I thought we were going to work on that together," she said.
Indeed I had jumped the gun ... again. In my excitement, I had inadvertently robbed Megan of her own excitement about the project.
Working together
Seven years ago, when we started our company, we thought there was nothing better than working together everyday. We arranged our office so that our desks sat side-by-side, allowing for stolen glances and smiles throughout the day.
It was wonderful, and while on our first project we discovered that we had opposite approaches to the editing process, we delighted in sharing every aspect of our lives, from the most intimate to the professional and mundane.
While it was usually gratifying for the two of us to call on each other as living thesauruses, I always wondered how Depeche Mode could transform writing a news brief into a transcendental experience for Megan, and yet, a semi-educational audiobook I listened to while we worked grated on her nerves.
Amicable separation
After some deliberation and recognition that I would need a separate area for coaching clients, we decided to transform our second bedroom into an office for Megan.
I must admit that before giving Megan her own office, I was never one to place great value on the importance of personal space. Yet, as we redesigned our spaces to represent ourselves, an interesting thing occurred. We became closer and functioned better as a couple, both personally and professionally.
At first it was subtle; we discovered the impulse to make the time we did share more intentional. At work, our meetings were more creative. With the spirit of exploration and play, we completed our joint projects. By the same token, our personal lives became more meaningful as we became less inclined to engage in meaningless husband/wife banter.
In particular, we began to take better care of ourselves individually, and thus care for one another more profoundly. While we have already made many individual connections to the community, that pattern carried more deeply into our lives and we began to value those connections more.
This ability to balance maintaining outside relationships and maintaining our relationship as a couple surprises others.
I'm not sure whether that's because I'm a person with a disability or simply because we flow so smoothly from one type of connection to another.
However, it is clear to me that Megan's and my ability to function as individuals and as partners offers an example of what's possible once we can let go of the belief that people with disabilities need to be dependent.
It is this wonderful and dynamic balance in our relationship that allows me the opportunity to jump ahead and, ever so gracefully, insert my foot in my mouth.
