TRANSCRIPT

I’m Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown. 

If you’re anything like me, you spend more time online than is probably good for you. And for reasons I don’t fully understand, my algorithm serves me a lot of relationship content. If I’ve seen one reel by a therapist or life coach talking about attachment styles, or best communication practices, or ways to know your relationship is healthy or toxic, I’ve seen a thousand. 

A lot of it I quickly scroll past, and it simply becomes part of the static of my day. Some of it, however, I stop and read or watch. Some of it sticks with me. (Come to think of it, that time spent reading and watching is clocked by my device, and THAT’S what’s affecting my algorithm.)

For example, I remember reading in some post that love is admiration plus consideration. Now, there are plenty of definitions of love, but that one stuck with me. Maybe what struck me was its simplicity. Like, what recipe has only TWO ingredients? Even brownies from a boxed mix have more ingredients than that.

So no, I don’t think something as complex as love can be reduced to two ingredients. And I don’t think I’m going to live happily ever after based on relationship advice gleaned from Instagram. But I will say this: I think about that consideration piece a lot. To be considerate is to be unselfish. It’s making others’ feelings, and their needs and wants, a top priority—not only our feelings, needs, and wants. 

Today’s poem touched me because it acknowledges the patience and tenderness we need to have as spouses and as parents. Relationships are a lot of work, and when you have children it adds another layer of love and another layer of work. Another level of consideration.

The Good Guy
by Blas Falconer

We stood on the back porch in the late
afternoon, crying hard but quiet so

the kids wouldn’t hear, and looked at
each other. After, tired, we fell asleep

on the couch, which we hadn’t done 
in years. When we moved into this house, 

we found a garden, and that first summer, 
I picked tomatoes, squash, my hands

passing over what needed more time,
what had fallen to the ground, rotting or

half-eaten. When the season ended, we
let the grass spread over the dirt and

whatever else was buried there. I woke up
in the early evening to a sadness

like something I could point to, a painting
you hung on the wall, a silver bowl 

you filled with coins from countries you might
never see again. I could hear the boys

playing in the next room—Now, I get
to be the bad guy,  until one stopped

the game to say, I’m hungry.
Me, too,  the other said, and you got up

slowly and made your way to the kitchen.

"The Good Guy" by Blas Falconer from RARA AVIS © 2024 Blas Falconer. Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Four Way Books.