I don’t need a million.
Let me tell you about my husband. We’ve been together for over eleven years, dating back to when I was not exactly a prize. He’s been there for me through my ongoing wrestling with clinical depression, which is not easy. He’s supported my career choices even though they mean that he is effectively the sole wage-earner for the household at the moment. We can frequently spend hours talking about things (aside from politics; we talk about just anything else), though he prefers when I don’t want :eek: to start at four in the morning. I’ve watched him grow from somewhat shy and awkward into someone with solid self-confidence and a good sense of security, someone with a drive to learn and succeed, though that drive occasionally gets him kind of freaky about World of Warcraft. He’s grown out his hair so that it’s long enough that I can run my fingers through it. He’s held me in the hard times and the good times, and I’m looking forward to spending my life with him just as much as I was years ago, if not more. (And since I know he’s reading this thread: I love you.) I’ve grown with him, and I intend to keep doing so; being with him helps me to be the person I want to be.
Let me tell you about my dear competitor. When we’re both working on our writing, we spend the day telling each other our wordcounts, vying for the most productive day. We share our troubles and exchange support, just being there for each other, whether it’s just life in general or something specific. Our long-term commitment isn’t to family, but to a creative project we’re doing together; it was about the time we started on that that was sort of decided we had a relationship, and that was a couple of years ago. Despite not having a sexual relationship, we discuss our sexual lives fairly freely – I got a comment recently about how good it was to see me so happy with my sex life which just tickled me immensely. I’m always just plain happy to see a login or get some sort of communication – it lights up my life. We watch the Daily Show together on a regular basis, vying to see who can type out the funny lines fastest in chat windows.
Let me tell you about my lover. We’ve known each other for several years and worked together on religious obligations fairly extensively. He is even more careful of respecting my expressed needs and boundaries than I am; despite how little time we’ve been together as a couple, he’s done a great deal to build up a trusting context with that behaviour. He communicates at roughly the same level of disclosure that I do, which has been startling to me, because I hadn’t realised how much energy I put into that in the past, hadn’t realised how easy it could be. He makes me feel beautiful with half-stuttering mumbled compliments. I talked about something important and highly personal I need to do, and he said, “That’s a lifework”; when I said I knew that, he offered his help with it. When I worry about the future, he holds me; when I worry about how he will deal with my depression, he says he’s seen it. He laughs when I say the good thing about getting involved with him after knowing him for several years is that I know the ways he drives me bugfuck insane already. He tells me the things I need to know, and forgives my dithering and making up stupid stresses. He asks me to tell hm about my mental state, even when the causes are things that are currently explicitly outside the scope of our relationship, so he can understand and give support as need be.
That’s three reasons.
If three isn’t enough, let me tell you about my ex-boyfriend. He reads my work as I go through it and tells me when I’m not making any damn sense. He says I was good at giving him emotional support when we were involved. He builds things all the time – scale models of desks he’s planning on making later, model cars, he built his wife a set of bookshelves to apologise for flaking out on her once. Once, when he was visiting, he washed my kitchen cabinets, just because they were there. He’s got an absent-minded professor air about him that is just slightly too intense and monofocused to be compatible with a long-distance relationship, and I expect to mourn that fact for a while. He’s picking me up at the airport on Wednesday, and I’ll visit with that part of my family before going to the convention that is the nominal reason for my travel. We were together for five and a half years; I love him deeply, even though the relationship didn’t work out in the long run.
Now I’m all gooshy and kinda wistful.
But who needs millions of reasons? I mean, I could go on about childcare and stuff, and multi-adult incomes, and strong networks of mutually supportive people, but that’s all fluff for the newspapers, y’know? It’s about the individual, specific people.