In the movie “Little Women,” and I would assume the book as well- though I’m embarrassed to say I don’t actually know- there’s a moment that few people remember unless you were born to write. It’s late in the movie after Jo had moved to New York and spent her time writing and dreaming and growing. She met the old professor guy whom she’d later marry (don’t’ get me started, I’m totally on team Laurie) and he said one thing I haven’t forgotten in the 4 or 5 years since I watched it. He tells Jo that he knew she was a writer from the moment he saw her because of the callus and the ink on her hands.
I was running a bath a few nights ago and this moment from the movie popped into my head. I lamented briefly, mostly because bloggers have no distinct mark and I want inky calloused hands. I started thinking about the marks of a writer today, with pen and ink being replaced by keyboard and monitor, paper turning to blank screens and writing desks to computer armoires. And then I wondered about the marks of a wife.
Aside from my wedding ring, which I usually remember to wear, I could think of no physical marks I bear because of marriage. Kyle might argue that the days I go without makeup could be a marker, though he never had class with me in college and this is definitely a step up. It could be the amount of groceries I buy or the excitement I have in spending nights at home. But I have a feeling that the marks of a married person rest on our scarred souls, marred by day after day of being humbled and broken, knowing our parents and siblings aren’t the only ones who found us imperfect. I hope it’s in the way I forgive others and the lessons I’ve learned about listening and sharing dreams and finances and creative spaces.
What is one mark you bear or hope to bear because of marriage?
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