When I read the words "co-labor" the first image that popped into my head was of my favorite childhood game: the three-legged race. I was never particularly athletic or coordinated with regards to organized sports. My batting average would be .005, if that, should anyone have actually kept track of it. I couldn't hit a basket from 3 feet away and lost every game of 'HORSE' I ever played. But the three-legged race? That I could do.
Many thought that the secret was to choose a partner who was the same height as you, who would then run at approximately the same speed as you, making it easier to stay in sync.
They were wrong.
The secret wasn't picking the perfect partner; the secret was figuring out how to run the race with the partner that you picked. You stand side by side facing the finish line, arms wrapped tightly around each others waist, so that you can feel the other person's movements. You can't run in sync if you don't know how your partner is running. The basics are discussed, a general strategy is mapped out and then the race is starting. You begin to run, slowly at first and then picking up speed as you both find your rhythm, moving together as one body. Your partner begins to run a little faster than you are able; you make a gentle tug on their waist, as if to say, "wait for me." She shortens her stride to match yours and both heels pound the pavement in perfect time again. She doesn't mind slowing a bit if it keeps you running as one. She knows sprinting ahead without staying well-connected leads to stumbling and if not gotten under control, leads to full-blown crashes with bloody skinned knees and tangled limbs.
It doesn't matter if it isn't the same way the couple next to you runs. Staring at them means you're not paying attention to your own partner, the one whom you chose and are bound to. What works for the two of you might not work for another couple.
We work together the same way we run.
She speeds up to match my longer strides, as she tugs on my hand to slow me down. I chop onions because she hates smelling them raw; she makes the rice because while I can make dark chocolate buttercream from scratch, I can't master rice and you can't have chicken and rice without the rice. She bathes the baby so I can finish writing. I wake up on Saturday morning with the same baby so she can sleep longer. She can't stop compulsively cleaning and I put whatever I don't want moved in my purse because I learned that is the only thing she doesn't organize. (I can barely carry it, but I know where everything is when I need it now). We sacrifice self for the beauty of what we're creating together. We recognize the sacrifice and are deeply grateful. We run the race side by side, for the sheer love of it, thrilled simply to be running it together.
Many thought that the secret was to choose a partner who was the same height as you, who would then run at approximately the same speed as you, making it easier to stay in sync.
They were wrong.
The secret wasn't picking the perfect partner; the secret was figuring out how to run the race with the partner that you picked. You stand side by side facing the finish line, arms wrapped tightly around each others waist, so that you can feel the other person's movements. You can't run in sync if you don't know how your partner is running. The basics are discussed, a general strategy is mapped out and then the race is starting. You begin to run, slowly at first and then picking up speed as you both find your rhythm, moving together as one body. Your partner begins to run a little faster than you are able; you make a gentle tug on their waist, as if to say, "wait for me." She shortens her stride to match yours and both heels pound the pavement in perfect time again. She doesn't mind slowing a bit if it keeps you running as one. She knows sprinting ahead without staying well-connected leads to stumbling and if not gotten under control, leads to full-blown crashes with bloody skinned knees and tangled limbs.
It doesn't matter if it isn't the same way the couple next to you runs. Staring at them means you're not paying attention to your own partner, the one whom you chose and are bound to. What works for the two of you might not work for another couple.
We work together the same way we run.
She speeds up to match my longer strides, as she tugs on my hand to slow me down. I chop onions because she hates smelling them raw; she makes the rice because while I can make dark chocolate buttercream from scratch, I can't master rice and you can't have chicken and rice without the rice. She bathes the baby so I can finish writing. I wake up on Saturday morning with the same baby so she can sleep longer. She can't stop compulsively cleaning and I put whatever I don't want moved in my purse because I learned that is the only thing she doesn't organize. (I can barely carry it, but I know where everything is when I need it now). We sacrifice self for the beauty of what we're creating together. We recognize the sacrifice and are deeply grateful. We run the race side by side, for the sheer love of it, thrilled simply to be running it together.
