minalisms

“While popularly regarded as the Festival of Lights, the most significant meaning of Diwali is the awareness of one’s own inner light.”

Call me what you will, but there are days when I don’t want to share my husband with anybody, not his clients nor his friends, not even his family.

Because after 40-plus-hour workweeks and agendas and impromptu errands and frenetic meal preparations and follow-up chores and ladies nights one evening and tennis matches the next and, oh yeah, sleep, I am territorial about my time with my spouse. In fact, if it weren’t such a crazy move, I’d post a big “Do Not Disturb” sign outside our front door because that’s how much I mean it.

I love Ben because he gets this.

This past weekend, seeing that I was in need of mellow couple time, he took me out on dates. Dates that included sushi, “Julie & Julia,” an art fair, Nutella and a lazy drive one night; and beers, burgers, a nighttime stroll and reminiscing on another.

As I waited to fall asleep late Sunday, I felt like my heart was going to explode from contentment and gratitude. And that is precisely why I married him.

It may not seem like much to you, but the 16th of each month is a momentous day.

It is the one day that I am sure to hear from my mom, who sends me a sweet, celebratory note commemorating the birth of her daughter — Minal — and the arrival of a son — Ben.

See. Momentous.

In mid-September, I will finally fly out to California to visit my family, friends and the place I grew up. I haven’t done so since getting married last November.

Yet I still find myself describing San Jose as “home,” this after two moves, about 2,000 miles and nearly seven years of living anywhere but there.

So it got me thinking: I wonder when the shift occurs — when people stop referring to their past as their present.

To every lovesick woman who believes she can fix her broken man:

You will fail.

Trust me.

Now save yourself.