Sunday Zim Zum

Oh God, pah-leeeeez don’t ask me to go with you, please for the love of all things holy go by yourself…

“I’d really love you to go with me to this car rally on Sunday”

There, he’d gone and done it, he’d interrupted my prayer vigil to ask me to do the very thing I was dreading: accompany him on an all day car rally in his newly restored vintage 1961 car —  the car of his dreams which he’d waited five years to drive — on his birthday weekend.

The trifecta of wifely favors.

Fuck.

I would rather have needles stuck in my eyes, walk on hot coals, or go to Disneyland with a bunch of little kids —on a hot day — during spring break.

But you see, I’m not a total ass, I had endured one of these rally’s in another car a few years back and It. Was. Torture. According to the rules of the Geneva Convention.

Every other participant knew Moses when he was a boy, the median age being approximately one hundred and seven, and saying I had nothing in common with their trophy wives who were hoping against hope that that Sunday would be the day the old geezer would kick the bucket – was an understatement of epic proportions.

I was sure I could not endure another vintage car rally, but in light of the fact that I am currently extolling the virtues of the book The Zim Zum of Love by Rob and Kristen Bell, I was forced to reconsider.

One of the things the book talks about is maintaining the energy or Zim Zum that exists between couples. One of the ways is through simple acts of kindness.

So I knew I had to suck it up…and walk the talk.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck.
He was so excited, all enthused and …happy; an emotion he hadn’t displayed in the month since our old dog had passed.

And did I mention it was his birthday?

So I grabbed myself by the scruff of the neck (not an easy feat) and had a Come-to-Jesus-Talk with ME.

You’ve got to do this so you might as well make the best of it. Try to have fun (that was my mantra all day) this means so much to him and it really is no skin off your nose to take a long ride in a cool car to Malibu for lunch. Try to smile, try to make conversation, try be nice — try to have fun.

In order to jooj up the fun factor I decided to be anyone but myself and play the part of a sixties femme fatale. I donned the requisite head scarf, Jackie O shades and attitude to get into the character of an International Woman of Mystery, someone who would have ridden in that car back in its heyday, and I’ve got to say, as corny as it sounds, that really helped.

That is until they let the air out of my balloon when they handed us the ten pages of “crazy clues and fun facts”  that were part of the directions to our lunch destination.

I would have loved to have seen my face — My eyes rolled so hard I almost did a back-flip

This was that most dreaded of all car rally’s: The Cloying Scavenger Hunt Rally where the navigator (me) reads the pages and pages of ever so clever clues to the driver in order to figure out which street to turn on or how far up ahead to stop.

Fuck.

I almost ripped off the scarf and glasses and went screaming down the hill, that is until I looked at his face. He looked so… hopeful, wanting me to just go along and be a sport, and I could hear the wobbly, self righteous Zim Zum between us calling my name…Janet…be kind…do the right thing…how many stupid-ass things have you dragged him to?

Zim Zum never lies; so I sucked it up, put on my shades, tied my head scarf and smiled; then down through the hills of Beverly we went as I called out clues and street names.

Try to have fun…just have fun. I kept repeating until it got easier.

The further we went, the sillier we got (truth be told he also thought this whole part was asinine. Whew!) Until we were laughing and waving at fellow drivers and suddenly I realized I was having a rally good time.

It turned out to be the perfect way to take his new baby out for a spin; and once we figured out where we were headed we just relaxed, chucked the ridiculously difficult list of clues, (it’s not like we were being graded) and enjoyed the gorgeous day.

Sometimes a relationship; a marriage; requires sacrifice.

Sometimes that sacrifice takes up your entire Sunday.

Sometimes you are reduced to wearing a disguise, I mean scarf and sunglasses, to make it palatable.

And sometimes, if you stop being such a stuck-up-bitch-face, stop thinking of only yourself and just show some love and kindness to your husband on his birthday — in spite of yourself you can have a whole lotta fun.

I’m always learning.

Psssst…don’t show too much enthusiasm or he’ll make you go every time.

Carry on,

Xox

There is a mysterious, indescribable, complex exchange that can happen in the space between you and your partner. You find each other. Your centers of gravity expand as your lives become more and more entwined. You create space for this other person to thrive while they’re doing the same for you. This creates a flow of energy in the space between you. This energy field is at the heart of marriage. It flows in the space between you, space that exists nowhere else in the universe. You can become more familiar with how this energy field works. You can develop language between you to identify what’s happening in the space between you. You can sharpen your abilities to assess it. You can act in certain ways to increase the flow. You can identify what’s blocking the flow, and then you can overcome those barriers. Years into your marriage, you can continue to intensify this energetic flow between you.

It is risky to give yourself to another. There are no guarantees, and there are lots of ways for it to fall apart and break your heart. But the upside is infinite.

—from The Zimzum of Love

New York Times bestselling author Rob Bell and his wife, Kristen Bell, explore a whole new way of understanding our most intimate and powerful relationship: marriage. The concepts behind The Zimzum of Love open ways for us to transform and deepen how we love.