Checking in is risky business

Learning to manage a marriage from the front of the bus--both at home and abroad

The problem with checking in, of course, is that things can quickly go sideways. “How are you?” and “Is anything bothering you?” and “Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?” can be dangerously loaded questions, especially if you are not looking for honest answers.

Marriage counselors recommend finding a “good” time, when things are going well and both parties are relaxed, to check in with each other and discuss any issues that may be bothering one or both of you.

Yeah. Nice idea. If your relationship is anything like ours, that is easier said than done. Who wants to ruin a perfectly peaceful moment by asking if anything is bothering the other person? That conversation invites conflict. Intentionally! No, thank you, right?

And the longer you go without asking for an honest relationship assessment, the more stuff piles up. It gets harder and harder to check in, and the marriage relationship definitely suffers more and more as time goes on.

But we are traveling now. This current trip will last three months. After we return to the States and finish Walter, our trusty travel rig, we’ll be on the road full time for the foreseeable future.

Although we do and will continue to have contact with family and friends online, and we occasionally meet lovely new people as we travel, Andy and I have to be each other’s best friends, our closest companions. And that means we need to keep short accounts. We can't afford to let things go. We are the only people we have to hang out with, and we have no separate corners of the house when we need to retreat.

Living in a committed marriage partnership is never an easy thing. But at home, you at least have a comfort zone. You know how the shower works and how to regulate the temperature of your living space. You go down the aisles of the grocery store or read down the menu at the restaurant and recognize most everything—and if you don't, you at least can read the label or description in your own language. You have regular events that work the same every time—grabbing coffee with a friend, going to church, driving across town to the store where you know you will find the thing you need. You understand inherently what clothing is appropriate for each situation and you know exactly how to get your laundry clean when you run out of clean clothes, which doesn't happen very often.

It’s always important to stay in good communication for any committed relationship, but adding in the stresses of long-term travel, particularly international travel where you don't speak the language or inherently understand the local customs, ramps up the need for relational harmony significantly.

The Marriage 101 stuff—checking in regularly, keeping short accounts, etc. has to take a front seat on the proverbial bus.

For those of you following along on Facebook where I post my daily travel updates, you know how important the front of the bus is in a literal sense. You read about our trip this week up to the Cameron Highlands, a beautiful and temperate tea-growing region at 6,000+ feet in the heart of Malaysia. The highlands were lovely, but the bus ride up was intense—forty grueling miles of relentless and ridiculous tight curves and steep inclines—enough to scramble the innards of the best of us.

As a person who struggles with motion sickness, it was a rough ride for me. Unfortunately, our seats were in the next to last row—less than ideal in the best of conditions, which these were not. There was no horizon to be seen in the thick jungle surrounding us and zooming past in the long rows of windows that made up our view, and there was no possibility of fresh air on the well-air-conditioned coach. I was unprepared with any countermeasures like Dramamine or Benadryl, ginger, pressure point bands, or the like. And again I say, it was rough.

The experience shouldn't have come as a surprise. The back seat of the bus is always a turbulent, whip-lashy place to be, much more so than the front. The back of the bus bears the brunt of the g-forces and stresses exerted on the front of the bus. I am no physicist, but the basics of centrifugal force say that the energy from the front of the bus in a tight turn has to go somewhere. Any self-respecting roller coaster junkie has learned from experience: the wildest ride is always in the back.

On a bus or in a marriage, the most peaceful place to manage a difficult ride is up front. Although it might look scarier from there, because you have a good view and can see just how treacherous, narrow, and steep the road is, the impacts of the forces thrust upon you are lessened. You may as well face the winding turns and steep slopes head-on, where the impact is easier to manage. It’s much harder if you get behind.

So that is what we are trying to do as we travel—both on the bus and in our relationship—sit in the front of the bus, both literally and figuratively, dealing with stresses as they come instead of letting too much time and energy go by.

At the risk of things going sideways, we pause to ask each other if any problems have arisen that we need to discuss—however small. It is still a scary thing, as the potential for conflict rises any time there is real honesty, but we are committed to handling the responses well, valuing the other person’s feelings and vulnerability. It has helped so much, allowing us to not let little things build up into big things.

Mealtimes are great for this, particularly breakfast or brunch, depending on the activities of the day. We have found tremendous value in lingering over breakfast occasionally, at the start of a new day, when the air is not yet too unmanageably hot and sticky, and we are basically rested and fed

This was not as easy, though, when we were living a regular life at home. Like most of you, we had jobs and busy schedules. There wasn't much time to regularly or even semi-regularly linger over kopi or teh (coffee or tea, here in Malaysia, which we both prefer black “o” with no sugar “kosong”, so “kopi-o kosong” or “teh-o kosong”), either in the mornings, or at any time of the day or even the week. The marriage counselors might have suggested regular and frequent check-ins, but they are always hard to prioritize, and the less frequent they are, the more risky they become.

Over the past year, as we have prepared for this life of nomadic wanderings, we started the habit of morning meetings over breakfast. Our marriage has definitely improved with these regular check-ins, and I would care to bet others would, as well.

Autonomy, as a single person, is easier in some ways. You can make your own decisions and not have to consider the feelings or wishes of another. But it can get lonely, or so we’ve heard from singles who travel long-term. Decision-making is simpler, but you have no one with whom to share the simple joys and stresses.

In a committed partnership, couple-autonomy is an entirely different critter. You have someone to share everything with, but sometimes you don't want togetherness. Sometimes you want to make decisions without compromise. There is a particular fatigue that comes with always having to consult someone else for every decision. Of course, there is always the alternative—resentment from not consulting and just barreling through. That’s not pretty.

Adding full-time travel into the mix, as each other’s only companion, and non-stop decision-making because NOTHING is “normal” life anymore, and struggling to translate and work past language barriers means the checking-in process is even more necessary, absolutely essential. The stresses can be significant. Add in a steamy equatorial climate where both of you are sticky, sweaty, and constantly concerned with avoiding dehydration, and the potential for conflict is incredibly high.

Quite honestly, if you are considering significant travel as a couple, I would recommend you start working on healthy communication patterns in marriage even now. Beyond just regular check-ins, where honesty is expected and emotions are intentionally kept at a low level, I recommend doing difficult things together, as scary as that may sound. Things that require problem-solving are ideal.

Go to an unfamiliar part of town and try to learn about it as you explore. Read the signs; study the architecture; see if you can figure out the grid pattern, if there is one.

Ride public transportation—so much easier now with the help of your cellphone. Just choose a location some distance away, pull up directions for how to get there, and filter the results to show public transit instead of driving or walking. Don't know how to get tickets or transfer to a different metrorail train or bus? Welcome to our world. We don't know either, but time and again, we must figure it out. Just ask questions.

Try out an escape room activity—where you actually pay money to try to solve a series of puzzles and clues under pressure from the clock. Each person’s unique skills will surely show themselves, and you will need different ways of looking at the same pieces of information in order for it to make sense.

Be intentional about choosing random ethnic restaurants where you are not familiar with the menu items and have to Google them and take some risks.

All of these are ways to stretch not only your travel adaptability muscles, but also your relational capabilities, as well.

Picking out just the right roller suitcase and watching for a good airfare are not the most important things, at least not if you are traveling as a couple. Learning to work together as a problem-solving team, keeping short accounts and pulling together instead of apart—this is what matters.

Happy trails, friend. Until next week,

Sherry