Bread and Honey

For the first year after our wedding, David and I dipped challah in honey every Friday night, a Jewish tradition to remind newlyweds that marriage is sweet.

在我们结婚后的第一年，大卫和我每个星期五晚上都会将白面包浸入蜂蜜中，这是犹太传统，旨在提醒新婚夫妇婚姻是甜蜜的。

When we approached our one-year anniversary, I asked David what it meant that this ritual would end.

当我们临近一周年纪念日时，我问大卫，这个仪式的结束意味着什么。

We’ve been fortunate to publish Diana Saverin in the past.

我们过去很幸运地出版过戴安娜·萨维林 (Diana Saverin)。

Read “Predator or Prey.”

阅读《捕食者还是猎物》。

“We no longer need artificial sweetener,” he said.

“我们不再需要人造甜味剂，”他说。

Honey’s not artificial, but I think he meant we had the sweetness we needed.

蜂蜜不是人造的，但我认为他的意思是我们有我们需要的甜味。

We teased each other in the kitchen, shared lentil dals and roasted butternut at the table, took camping trips to alpine lakes with our two dogs, hosted lively potlucks with our friends.

我们在厨房里互相取笑，在餐桌上分享扁豆和烤胡桃，带着两只狗去高山湖泊露营，和朋友们一起举办热闹的聚餐。

Not every moment was sweet, though; like most couples, we could have painful and bitter disagreements.

然而，并不是每时每刻都是甜蜜的。像大多数夫妻一样，我们可能会出现痛苦和痛苦的分歧。

Take this one night: I don’t remember why we were fighting, but I do remember crying in bed.

以一天晚上为例：我不记得我们为什么吵架，但我记得在床上哭过。

Beside me, David pinched the bridge of his nose, said, “I have to go to sleep,” then mentioned, of all things, our taxes.

在我旁边，大卫捏着鼻梁说：“我得去睡觉了，”然后提到了我们的税金。

In my peripheral vision, I saw him putting in earplugs and turning away to sleep.

在我的余光中，我看到他戴上耳塞，转身睡觉。

I spiraled.

我螺旋式上升。

I lay awake that night, pulling the covers over my shoulders as I replayed past fights in my mind.

那天晚上，我彻夜难眠，把被子拉到肩上，脑子里回想起过去的战斗。

Our happiness turned hazy, even though I knew that when I felt okay again, this sadness would turn foggy in memory, too—its source and power a mystery.

我们的幸福变得模糊，尽管我知道当我再次感觉良好时，这种悲伤也会在记忆中变得模糊——它的来源和力量是一个谜。

It’s possible that, before getting married, I hadn’t absorbed enough love stories that accounted for years of commitment and wasn’t prepared for the challenges we’d face.

有可能，在结婚之前，我没有吸收足够的爱情故事来体现多年的承诺，也没有为我们将面临的挑战做好准备。

What I am looking for now is a story of marriage that includes both the sweet and the bitter, a narrative that twists the different strands of our lives together so that I can remember, even when things are hard, I’m still inside a love story.

我现在正在寻找的是一个既有甜蜜又有苦涩的婚姻故事，一个将我们生活的不同部分扭曲在一起的叙述，这样我就能记住，即使事情很艰难，我仍然沉浸在一个爱情故事中。

A few years into marriage, David and I started seeing a couple’s therapist.

结婚几年后，大卫和我开始去看一对夫妇的治疗师。

At the end of one session, she taught us about the bias of state-dependent learning, explaining how, when we’re in a particular state (despairing, joyful), we have easier access to other times we’ve felt the same way.

在一节课结束时，她向我们介绍了依赖于状态的学习的偏见，解释了当我们处于某种特定的状态（绝望、快乐）时，我们如何更容易进入其他有同样感受的时刻。

She suggested David and I tell loving stories to counter the tendency to generalize from hard times.

她建议大卫和我讲一些充满爱的故事，以对抗在困难时期一概而论的倾向。

David told one about me planning a backcountry trip we’d just done.

大卫告诉一个人，我正在计划我们刚刚完成的一次野外旅行。

He called me vivacious and recalled a night when he watched me skate ski down an icy river, heavy backpack digging into my shoulders.

他说我很活泼，并回忆起有一天晚上，他看着我在冰冷的河面上滑行，沉重的背包压住了我的肩膀。

He talked about my enthusiasm, my strength, my vision.

他谈到了我的热情、我的力量和我的愿景。

When it was my turn, I paused.

轮到我的时候，我停了下来。

The therapist prompted me.

治疗师提示我。

“What about your origin story?” she asked.

“你的起源故事呢？”她问道。

“How you first met?”

“你们第一次见面是怎样的？”

It was a fair question, but I didn’t want to tell that story again.

这是一个公平的问题，但我不想再讲这个故事了。

There’s a propulsion to the tale of meeting, dating, getting engaged, getting married.

相遇、约会、订婚、结婚的故事都有推动力。

In our case, there were grand gestures.

在我们的例子中，有一些宏伟的举动。

Long letters.

长信。

Recorded songs.

录制的歌曲。

Intercontinental flights.

洲际航班。

Breakups.

分手。

A whirlwind engagement.

旋风般的订婚。

I wanted a tale from the present, since it’s been harder to see the narrative since our lives became more consistent.

我想要一个来自现在的故事，因为自从我们的生活变得更加一致以来，看到故事变得更加困难。

I eventually talked about how David supported me on the same trip, took weight from my backpack, cut ice from my bindings when my boots froze into them, remained sweet even when pain made me sour.

我最终谈到了大卫在同一次旅行中如何支持我，减轻我背包的重量，当我的靴子结冰时从我的固定器上切掉冰块，即使疼痛让我发酸，仍然保持甜蜜。

I used words like “thoughtful” and “caring,” trying my best to coat them in honey to make up for my pause.

我用了“体贴”、“关怀”之类的词，尽力给它们涂上蜂蜜，以弥补我的停顿。

I’ve told our origin story many times—any couple does—and it is a love story.

我已经多次讲述过我们的起源故事——任何一对夫妇都会这样做——这是一个爱情故事。

We met in college.

我们是在大学认识的。

I don’t remember our first conversation freshman year, but I do remember, two years later, salsa dancing.

我不记得我们大一时的第一次谈话，但我记得两年后，萨尔萨舞。

We had overlapping social circles, but that night, I noticed him: his brown eyes, his quiet confidence, his gentle but sure touch.

我们的社交圈有重叠，但那天晚上，我注意到了他：他棕色的眼睛，他安静的自信，他温柔但坚定的触感。

A few months later, we both joined a group that met a couple times a week and had a policy against dating other members, which gave us free rein to flirt without consequence.

几个月后，我们都加入了一个每周见几次面的团体，并制定了禁止与其他成员约会的政策，这让我们可以自由地调情，而不会产生任何后果。

We became closer, going on runs, studying together, meeting up for Chipotle burritos.

我们变得更加亲密，一起跑步、一起学习、一起吃墨西哥卷饼。

One night, our group played a game of sardines.

一天晚上，我们一行人玩了一场沙丁鱼游戏。

I hid behind a door for what felt like a long time.

我躲在门后，感觉躲了很长一段时间。

I could hear, in the distance, one of our friends suggesting the group give up trying to find me.

我能听到，在远处，我们的一位朋友建议这群人放弃寻找我。

Then, I heard a creak in the hinge; it was David.

然后，我听到铰链吱吱作响；是大卫。

He pulled the door around us like a blanket and we held our breaths.

他把门像毯子一样拉在我们身上，我们屏住了呼吸。

My hands found his ribs; his fingers my hair.

我的手找到了他的肋骨；他的手指我的头发。

We kissed in the dark.

我们在黑暗中接吻。

Our flirtation took the shape of a fling; anything more serious seemed unlikely.

我们的调情采取了风流韵事的形式。更严重的事情似乎不太可能发生。

It was our senior spring and our plans post-graduation didn’t involve residing on the same continent.

那是我们大四的春天，我们毕业后的计划并不涉及居住在同一片大陆。

I was going to Alaska; he was going to the UK, with designs on living in South Africa after he finished graduate school.

我本来要去阿拉斯加；他本来打算去英国，计划研究生毕业后去南非生活。

At the time, I was scared of what it would take to commit to togetherness.

当时，我很害怕要付出什么才能实现团结。

My independence was important to me, and I didn’t trust I could keep my identity intact if we knit our lives too tightly together.

我的独立对我来说很重要，我不相信如果我们的生活太紧密地结合在一起，我可以保持我的身份完整。

Still, what we had was too good to give up, so we gave it a try.

尽管如此，我们拥有的东西太好了，不能放弃，所以我们尝试了一下。

There were hiccups, like the time I broke up with him while reporting in Chilean Patagonia.

有一些小问题，比如我在智利巴塔哥尼亚报道时与他分手的那次。

He’d already purchased a ticket to visit me, so came anyway, hitching a ride down the Carreterra Austral in a truck bed he shared with a dead goat.

他已经买了一张来看望我的票，所以无论如何还是来了，在他与一只死山羊共用的卡车车厢里顺着卡雷特拉南方行驶。

Within hours of being physically together, it was obvious we did not want to break up.

在一起几个小时后，很明显我们不想分手。

We went camping and talked about everything—including how to envision a shared future.

我们去露营，谈论了一切——包括如何设想一个共同的未来。

David was always better at that.

大卫在这方面总是做得更好。

He, more than anyone I know, uses creativity and imagination to overcome what can seem like impossible hurdles.

他比我认识的任何人都更善于运用创造力和想象力来克服看似不可能的障碍。

When I was losing hope—losing hold of our story—he helped me believe in the life we could build together.

当我失去希望——失去对我们的故事的把握时——他帮助我相信我们可以共同建设生活。

Two years after we first kissed during that fateful game of sardines, we broke up a second time.

在那场致命的沙丁鱼游戏中，我们第一次接吻两年后，我们第二次分手。

I moved to Alaska and he moved to South Africa.

我搬到了阿拉斯加，他搬到了南非。

We untangled ourselves quite thoroughly and didn’t see each other for another two years.

我们彻底解开了彼此的纠葛，又两年没有见面了。

One fall, though, we met up when we both happened to be in New York City.

然而，有一年秋天，我们碰巧都在纽约见面。

Within days, we kissed on a street in Hell’s Kitchen.

几天之内，我们就在地狱厨房的街道上接吻了。

Within weeks, we got engaged.

几周之内，我们就订婚了。

By that point, I was more afraid of my drive for independence than the prospect of merging lives with someone I trusted and loved as much as David.

到那时，我更害怕的是自己追求独立的动力，而不是与像大卫一样我信任和爱的人融合生活的前景。

When I called a friend to tell her the news, she almost crashed her car.

当我打电话给朋友告诉她这个消息时，她差点撞坏了车。

Her surprise was not unjustified: He and I had scarcely seen each other in years; the average flight time between our two cities was 59 hours, 35 minutes.

她的惊讶并非没有道理：我和他已经好几年没见过面了。我们两个城市之间的平均飞行时间为 59 小时 35 分钟。

Our metaphor at the time was lightning.

我们当时的比喻是闪电。

Borrowing an idea from Maimonides, we believed that our access to truth (and love) came in bright bursts, illuminating all that was possible.

借用迈蒙尼德的一个想法，我们相信我们对真理（和爱）的接触会突然出现，照亮一切可能的事物。

We thought that, a lot of the time, we’d live in the dark—take each other for granted, grow complacent.

我们以为，很多时候，我们会生活在黑暗中——认为彼此是理所当然的，变得自满。

While still bathed in light, we wanted to braid our two lives together, let our existences grow so entangled that our joining would be irreversible.

当我们还沐浴在光明之中时，我们想将我们的两个生命编织在一起，让我们的存在变得如此纠缠，以至于我们的结合将是不可逆转的。

I want more than our origin story, more than a marriage plot, though; I want a story that makes sense of our lives now, too, but the daily reality of commitment is harder to tell.

不过，我想要的不仅仅是我们的起源故事，不仅仅是婚姻情节；我想要的不仅仅是我们的起源故事，不仅仅是婚姻情节。我也想要一个对我们现在的生活有意义的故事，但承诺的日常现实更难讲述。

Lightning still strikes, but not continuously.

闪电仍然击中，但不是连续的。

We also spend a lot of time cleaning out the fridge, checking our phones, talking about what size teapot to buy and when we need to put snow tires on the car and how to request a reimbursement for a health-care bill.

我们还花了很多时间清理冰箱，检查手机，讨论要买多大尺寸的茶壶，什么时候需要给车装雪地轮胎，以及如何申请医疗费用报销。

I want a story that makes sense of our lives now, too, but the daily reality of commitment is harder to tell.

我也想要一个对我们现在的生活有意义的故事，但承诺的日常现实更难讲述。

I wouldn’t want lightning to strike continuously, anyway; the quietness of our love and shared life is a source of stability and calm.

无论如何，我不希望闪电连续不断地袭击；我们的爱和共同生活的安静是稳定和平静的源泉。

In many ways, marriage is more like challah than honey: humble, comforting, familiar.

从很多方面来说，婚姻更像是白面包而不是蜂蜜：谦卑、令人安慰、熟悉。

When separating pieces of challah dough to braid, it’s important to make sure no one strand gets too ample or spindly.

将白面包面团分开编辫子时，重要的是要确保没有一根面团变得太宽或太细。

And in our lives, it’s important that no one experience takes hold of the whole narrative.

在我们的生活中，重要的是没有任何一种经历能够掌控整个故事。

I don’t want only sweetness, or only lightning, but I do want to know how to fold sourness and shadow into the dough, too.

我不仅想要甜味，也不仅仅想要闪电，但我确实也想知道如何将酸味和阴影融入面团中。

I bake two loaves of challah many Fridays.

许多星期五我都会烤两条白面包。

On Thursday night, I mix warm water, yeast, and honey in a glass bowl, whisk in eggs and oil, stir in flour and salt.

周四晚上，我在玻璃碗中混合温水、酵母和蜂蜜，加入鸡蛋和油，搅拌面粉和盐。

Then, I knead with the heel of my palm until the dough is smooth and soft, its yeasty fragrance already like a mild beer.

然后，我用手掌跟揉，直到面团光滑柔软，酵母的香味已经像温和的啤酒一样。

I stick the dough in the fridge, and by Friday morning, the ballooned mass lifts from the depths of the bowl and looks like it might pop.

我把面团放进冰箱里，到周五早上，膨胀的团块从碗的深处升起，看起来像是要爆开一样。

I push the dough down, my hand slick with oil.

我把面团压下去，手上沾满了油。

Several hours later, I assemble the loaves by separating the dough into 12 balls, trying to make sure they’re the same size.

几个小时后，我将面团分成 12 个球，以确保它们的大小相同，从而组装好面包。

Sometimes, one strand ends up too plump and dominant while others barely make it to the end of the loaf.

有时，一根绳子会变得过于丰满和占主导地位，而其他绳子则勉强到达面包的末端。

I want the braids to form a woven texture, the six strands forming a whole so perfect their union seems inevitable.

我希望辫子形成编织的纹理，六股线形成一个如此完美的整体，它们的结合似乎是不可避免的。

I don’t want only sweetness, or only lightning, but I do want to know how to fold sourness and shadow into the dough, too.

我不仅想要甜味，也不仅仅想要闪电，但我确实也想知道如何将酸味和阴影融入面团中。

The kitchen fills with a caramel aroma as the loaves bake, the egg wash giving the crust a golden sheen.

面包烘烤时，厨房里弥漫着焦糖的香气，蛋液使面包皮呈现出金色的光泽。

When I take them out, I knock the bottoms to make sure they’ve baked through, then transfer the loaves to a plate and cover them with cloth.

当我把它们拿出来时，我敲击底部以确保它们已经烤透，然后将面包转移到盘子上并用布盖住它们。

When we remove the cloth to bless them, David gasps in mock surprise, as if these challah were the manna from heaven they represent.

当我们取下布来祝福他们时，大卫假装惊讶地喘着气，仿佛这些白面包是它们代表的来自天堂的吗哪。

We tear into the loaves with our hands, dismantling the bread.

我们用手撕开面包，将面包拆散。

Sometimes, I am so eager for the taste of the warm loaf that I forget to marvel at the alchemy that’s happened, the way the disparate ingredients and strands of dough have coalesced to form this brief wholeness before the bites dissolve on our tongues.

有时，我是如此渴望温暖面包的味道，以至于忘记了对所发生的炼金术的惊叹，不同的成分和面团在舌头上融化之前结合在一起形成短暂的整体。

When I first told my mom David and I were seeing a couple’s therapist, she blinked.

当我第一次告诉妈妈大卫和我正在看一对夫妇的治疗师时，她眨了眨眼。

I could see her trying to rationalize why we—young, happy, newlywed—would need a marriage counselor.

我可以看到她试图合理解释为什么我们——年轻、幸福的新婚夫妇——需要一位婚姻顾问。

“I guess your lives are kind of unusual,” she said.

“我猜你的生活有点不寻常，”她说。

She may have been referring to the fact that, in the summer, I worked as a field instructor leading backcountry expeditions, which meant I sometimes spent up to a month away from David.

她可能指的是这样一个事实：在夏天，我担任野外探险队的野外教练，这意味着我有时会离开大卫长达一个月的时间。

One student expressed surprise when she found out I was married.

一名学生得知我已婚后表示惊讶。

“How do you still work as an instructor?” she asked.

“你还怎么当导师？”她问道。

Perhaps she saw marriage as something you couldn’t escape from for 30-day stints.

也许她认为婚姻是30天内无法逃避的事情。

Maybe she saw marriage as something that smoothed out the inconsistencies in life, replacing scattershot adventures with a stable routine and home.

也许她认为婚姻可以消除生活中的矛盾，用稳定的日常生活和家庭取代漫无目的的冒险。

Before I left one May, I braided and froze enough mini challah loaves for David to bake every Friday night I was gone.

在我五月离开之前，我编织并冷冻了足够的迷你白面包面包，供大卫在我离开的每个星期五晚上烘烤。

He didn’t ask me to, but I wanted to offer him something sweet, even though I’d be absent for most of the summer.

他没有要求我这样做，但我想给他一些甜蜜的东西，尽管我整个夏天都会缺席。

I occasionally made challah in the backcountry, too, using powdered egg, brown sugar, yeast, and flour, mixing the dough in a plastic bag, keeping the bag warm inside my puffy jacket, then baking the bread in a frying pan over a camping stove.

我偶尔也会在偏远地区制作白面包，用蛋粉、红糖、酵母和面粉，将面团放入塑料袋中混合，将袋子放在我的蓬松夹克内保温，然后在野营炉上的煎锅中烘烤面包。

But mostly, being in the field meant retreating from the rhythms of my everyday life: I led students over steep passes and through crevassed glaciers in the Chugach and Talkeetna Mountains of Alaska, carried a backpack that often weighed more than 70 pounds, wore the same sun shirt and hiking pants for 30 straight days.

但最重要的是，在野外意味着要脱离日常生活的节奏：我带领学生翻越陡峭的山口，穿越阿拉斯加楚加奇和塔尔基特纳山脉的裂隙冰川，背着一个通常重达 70 磅的背包，连续 30 天穿着同样的防晒衫和登山裤。

I missed David.

我想念大卫。

We sent satellite texts most nights and exchanged a few letters.

我们大多数晚上都会发送卫星短信并交换一些信件。

When I returned, we always shared a memorably long hug in the dusty parking lot, me still clad in the unbearably grubby sun shirt and hiking pants.

当我回来时，我们总是在尘土飞扬的停车场里进行一次令人难忘的长时间拥抱，我仍然穿着脏兮兮的防晒衫和登山裤。

But there was something easy, too, about escaping the house meetings, the check-ins, the shopping lists.

但逃避家庭会议、签到、购物清单也很容易。

The escape I enjoyed in the field wasn’t from David; it was from the repetition of daily life.

我在野外享受的逃离并不是来自大卫；而是来自大卫。这是来自日常生活的重复。

I wouldn’t want to be in the backcountry all the time, though.

不过，我不想一直待在偏远地区。

The same domesticity I sometimes flee can also be nourishing, grounding.

我有时逃离的家庭生活也可以滋养、扎根。

I often go through stretches when I make toasted farro bowls, citrus fennel salads, black sesame mochi cakes.

当我制作烤法罗碗、柑橘茴香沙拉、黑芝麻麻糬蛋糕时，我经常要花很多时间。

These selves—at home and in the field—sometimes feel at odds, like the inconsistency in my life makes it hard to know what kind of person, and what kind of wife, I am.

这些自我——无论是在家里还是在外地——有时会感到矛盾，就像我生活中的不一致使我很难知道我是一个什么样的人，一个什么样的妻子。

When I keep track of my menstrual cycle, it becomes clear that the story I tell about my life—about our lives—changes depending on the time of the month.

当我跟踪我的月经周期时，很明显，我讲述的关于我的生活（关于我们的生活）的故事会根据每月的时间而变化。

During the follicular phase, between the start of my period and ovulation, I often believe my life is perfect.

在卵泡期，即月经开始和排卵之间，我常常相信我的生活是完美的。

I look at David with a loving gaze and no longer care if he doesn’t walk the dogs or help with dinner.

我用慈爱的目光看着大卫，不再关心他是否遛狗或帮忙做饭。

I flirt, exercise, work long hours.

我调情、锻炼、长时间工作。

I identify with this version of myself; I believe this person is me.

我认同这个版本的自己；我相信这个人就是我。

But the story doesn’t last.

但故事并没有持续下去。

In the second half of the month, I get sensitive, moody, insecure.

下半月，我变得敏感、喜怒无常、缺乏安全感。

Once, I felt so worthless I told David he should put me in a trash heap with the rotting orange peels.

有一次，我觉得自己一文不值，我告诉大卫他应该把我和腐烂的橙子皮一起扔进垃圾堆。

I don’t want to accept this weepy, clingy version of myself as the “real” me.

我不想接受这个哭泣、粘人的自己作为“真正的”我。

But I still don’t know: Which story do I tell if I want to describe my life, our lives?

但我还是不知道：如果我想描述我的生活，我们的生活，我该讲哪个故事？

David often suggests not taking life too seriously.

大卫经常建议不要把生活看得太严肃。

Sometimes I wonder if he means I should create space between what I feel and what I believe, treat my moods, and the stories they spin, like they’re as pliable as flour, water, and salt—something I can knead and roll out, braid and shape, fluff up and smooth.

有时我想知道他是否意味着我应该在我的感受和我的信念之间创造空间，对待我的情绪和它们编造的故事，就像它们像面粉、水和盐一样柔韧——我可以揉捏、擀开、编辫子和定型、蓬松和光滑的东西。

I once read an article describing that the way a couple tells their story predicts their future, from how satisfied they are in their relationship to whether they stay together in the years to come.

我曾经读过一篇文章，描述一对夫妇讲述故事的方式可以预测他们的未来，从他们对关系的满意度到他们在未来几年是否会在一起。

In the study, couples who told their meet-cute as if a stroke of fate and luck had led them to each other, who were enthusiastic and loving in their recollections of the past, were much more likely to remain married.

在这项研究中，那些在见面时表现得很可爱的夫妇，就好像命运和运气让他们走到了一起，对过去的回忆充满热情和爱，更有可能维持婚姻。

The idea stuck with me, that the stories we tell create—or at least reflect—the lives we live.

我一直有这样的想法：我们讲述的故事创造——或者至少反映——我们的生活。

The study, conducted by John Gottman, points out that couples who “glorify the struggle” are among those who stay together.

这项由约翰·戈特曼 (John Gottman) 进行的研究指出，那些“颂扬斗争”的夫妇是能够长期在一起的。

Those pairs say things like, “Marriage is the hardest job in the world, but it is well worth it.”

这些情侣会说：“婚姻是世界上最艰难的工作，但这是非常值得的。”

That is exactly what I’ve wanted: a narrative that captures not only our courtship, but also incorporates what has filled our relationship since then.

这正是我想要的：一个不仅能捕捉我们求爱过程的叙述，还能融入从那时起我们关系中所经历的一切。

There are the small joys of making each other a mug of licorice tea, hosting music nights where we sing “Cornbread and Butterbeans” and “The Fox” with friends, planting kale and nasturtiums in our garden, sharing a meal of miso-ginger salmon and catching up about our days.

还有一些小乐趣，比如互相泡一杯甘草茶，举办音乐之夜，与朋友们一起唱“玉米面包和黄油豆”和“狐狸”，在我们的花园里种植羽衣甘蓝和旱金莲，分享味噌姜鲑鱼大餐，并回顾我们的日子。

And there’s the harder stuff, too: our arguments before bed when I want to stay to finish the discussion but he insists on going to sleep.

还有更难的事情：我们在睡觉前争论，我想留下来完成讨论，但他坚持要睡觉。

Our recurring conversations about who does more around the house.

我们经常讨论谁在家里做得更多。

Our negotiations about how much to compromise and sacrifice in order to meet the other’s needs around place, work, and community.

我们谈判要做出多少妥协和牺牲才能满足对方在地点、工作和社区方面的需求。

The idea stuck with me, that the stories we tell create—or at least reflect—the lives we live.

我一直有这样的想法：我们讲述的故事创造——或者至少反映——我们的生活。

When we fight, David says he remembers that we are uniquely suited to each other.

当我们吵架时，大卫说他记得我们是独一无二的。

That’s the kind of thing I’m looking for: some kind of story that helps me move more gracefully through sadness or anger, one that helps me remember other states of being and the fact that the one I’m in will pass.

这就是我正在寻找的东西：某种故事可以帮助我更优雅地度过悲伤或愤怒，帮助我记住其他的存在状态以及我所处的状态将会过去的事实。

The other night, after we’d had a little row, David and I joked about my need for such a story as we brushed our teeth.

有一天晚上，我们发生了一点争吵后，大卫和我在刷牙时开玩笑说我需要这样一个故事。

“You should Google how to remember that you love your husband,” he said.

“你应该谷歌一下如何记住你爱你的丈夫，”他说。

I laughed, then said I probably would.

我笑了，然后说我可能会的。

Google didn’t offer much help, but lately I have been finding myself, when frustrated or in pain, trying to avoid the thought, it’s not supposed to be like this, and instead saying to myself: Love can feel like this, too.

谷歌没有提供太多帮助，但最近我发现自己，当沮丧或痛苦时，试图避免这样的想法，事情不应该是这样的，而是对自己说：爱也可以有这样的感觉。

But that doesn’t work all the time.

但这并不总是有效。

On a given night, I am not sure: Is this too much pain?

在某个特定的夜晚，我不确定：这是否太痛苦了？

Is this outside of the scope of “normal?” I try my best to trust, to remember that, even when I feel hurt, our happiness, joy, and love are still real, too.

这超出了“正常”的范围吗？我尽力去相信、记住，即使我感到受伤，我们的幸福、快乐和爱仍然是真实的。

One evening when David and I were lying in bed, I read a New Yorker profile of Wendell Berry.

一天晚上，当我和大卫躺在床上时，我读到了《纽约客》上一篇关于温德尔·贝瑞的简介。

In it, Berry described his old-fashioned view of marriage as “a state of mutual help” rather than the contemporary idea of “two successful careerists in the same bed.” These two ideas didn’t seem like they needed to be at odds, but it got me thinking: What role was I asking marriage to play in my life?

在其中，贝瑞将他对婚姻的老式看法描述为“一种相互帮助的状态”，而不是“两个成功的野心家同床共枕”的当代观念。这两个想法似乎并不需要相互矛盾，但这让我思考：我要求婚姻在我的生活中扮演什么角色？

And what about David?

那么大卫呢？

I put the magazine down, turned to David, and asked what he wanted out of marriage.

我放下杂志，转向大卫，问他想从婚姻中得到什么。

He tensed, stared at his Kindle, and asked if we could talk about it tomorrow.

他紧张起来，盯着他的 Kindle，问我们是否可以明天再谈这件事。

I remembered how, when I was in my mid-20s and single, I lived with a woman who reminisced about a needlepoint pillow she was gifted that read, One flesh, one heart, one soul.

我记得，当我二十多岁，单身的时候，我和一个女人住在一起，她回忆起她收到的一个绣花枕头，上面写着：一个肉体，一颗心，一个灵魂。

She told me it described marriage.

她告诉我这描述了婚姻。

At the time, I bristled: I didn’t want to merge flesh, heart, and soul.

当时我很生气：我不想将肉体、心灵和灵魂融合在一起。

Back then, I preferred Rilke’s description of marriage, one in which spouses guarded each other’s solitude and appreciated the space between them—a “marvelous living side-by-side,” he called it.

当时，我更喜欢里尔克对婚姻的描述，在婚姻中，夫妻双方守护彼此的孤独，欣赏彼此之间的空间——他称之为“奇妙的并肩生活”。

I hadn’t realized then how hard it would be to decide how much space to maintain between me and my spouse.

那时我还没有意识到决定我和我的配偶之间保持多大的空间是多么困难。

David and I spent years dating long-distance, during which time we frequently passed months without seeing each other.

大卫和我花了很多年的时间进行长途约会，在此期间我们经常几个月都没有见面。

We rarely occupied the same time zone.

我们很少占据同一时区。

I was the one scared of being tied down, the one wanting to preserve space to roam.

我是一个害怕被束缚的人，一个想要保留漫游空间的人。

Now, we often both work from home, which means the span of topography between us is the distance between kitchen and couch, my desk and his, one side of the bed and the other.

现在，我们经常在家工作，这意味着我们之间的地形跨度是厨房和沙发、我的桌子和他的桌子、床的一侧和另一侧之间的距离。

Now, I’m surprised by the role I’ve assumed: In our current lives, I often pursue as he pulls away.

现在，我对自己所扮演的角色感到惊讶：在我们现在的生活中，我常常追求，而他却抽离。

I often request more special time together—regular date nights, shared camping trips—while he wants me to appreciate all the time we already spend together.

我经常要求有更多特别的在一起时光——定期的约会之夜、共同的露营旅行——而他希望我珍惜我们已经在一起度过的所有时间。

I no longer want a marriage of two solitudes.

我不再想要两个孤独的婚姻。

I want a marriage like a braided loaf, one in which the fragments of our lives weave together, each strand retaining some individual integrity but allowing the line to blur sometimes, too.

我想要一段像辫子面包一样的婚姻，将我们生活的碎片编织在一起，每一缕都保留着一些个人的完整性，但有时也让界限变得模糊。

I want each part of our story—the highs and lows, the togetherness and distance, the daily life and electric moments—to form something solid I can hold in my hands, put on a plate, and bless.

我希望我们故事的每一部分——高潮和低谷、团聚和距离、日常生活和激动人心的时刻——都能形成坚实的东西，我可以握在手中，放在盘子上，并祝福。

David and I started keeping Shabbat together soon after getting engaged.

订婚后不久，大卫和我就开始一起过安息日。

A few of our early ones took place at a remote cabin in Alaska.

我们早期的一些活动是在阿拉斯加的一个偏远小屋进行的。

On Friday afternoons, we blasted the wood stove and put a flimsy Coleman oven on top, trying to preheat it to 400 degrees, which required, it seemed, heating the cabin to 100.

每周五下午，我们都会炸掉木火炉，并在上面放一个脆弱的科尔曼烤箱，试图将其预热到 400 度，这似乎需要将小屋加热到 100 度。

We grabbed a broomstick to knock the stovepipe when it blazed red, creosote shimmering back into the barrel.

我们抓起扫帚去敲瘦腿，这时瘦腿发出红光，杂酚油闪闪发光地回到桶里。

We caramelized onions, sprinkled cashews into spiced rice, assembled pies with wild berries, braided challah, and spread egg wash on the dough with a soggy paper towel.

我们将洋葱焦糖化，将腰果撒在五香米饭中，用野生浆果组装馅饼，编织白面包，并用湿纸巾在面团上涂上蛋液。

After dinner one evening, we walked down to the river, where small waves lapped against the gravel bar; a few ravens gurgled from the spruce forest; birch leaves shimmied in the breeze.

一天晚上吃过晚饭后，我们走到河边，小浪拍打着砾石滩。几只乌鸦从云杉林里咕咕地叫着；白桦树叶在微风中摇曳。

We interlaced fingers, swung our hands back and forth, and sang a few songs into the silence.

我们十指相扣，双手来回摆动，在寂静中唱了几首歌。

“That was low-key one of the best days of my life,” David said later that night.

“那是我一生中最美好的日子之一，”大卫当晚晚些时候说道。

In Jenny Offill’s novel Dept.

在珍妮·奥菲尔的小说《部门》中。

of Speculation, a rabbi says that three things in life give us a hint of the world to come: the sun, Shabbat, and married love.

在《思辨》一书中，一位拉比说，生活中的三件事给了我们对未来世界的暗示：太阳、安息日和婚姻之爱。

On days like that, I believe it—days when we put away our phones and bask in the sun and eat challah and are really with each other.

在那样的日子里，我相信——我们放下手机，晒太阳，吃白面包，真正在一起的日子。

Today, I wrote a list of happy things:

今天，我写了一份快乐的事情清单：

The thing about happy memories, though, is that they disappear like a good meal; in the moment, the sensory pleasure is consummate, but the specificity of goodness soon evaporates.

然而，幸福的回忆却像一顿美餐一样消失得无影无踪。在那一刻，感官上的愉悦达到了极致，但善良的特殊性很快就消失了。

On the other hand, I can vividly recall every food I’ve ever puked (blueberry-muffin batter, cranberry juice, trout).

另一方面，我可以清楚地记得我吐过的每一种食物（蓝莓松饼面糊、酸果蔓汁、鳟鱼）。

This bias takes active work to resist.

这种偏见需要积极的努力来抵制。

As meditation teacher Rick Hanson describes, the brain is like Velcro for bad experiences, Teflon for good ones.

正如冥想老师里克·汉森（Rick Hanson）所描述的那样，大脑就像尼龙搭扣（Velcro）用于糟糕的经历，特氟隆（Teflon）用于良好的经历。

Our evolutionary ancestors needed to remember scary times so they’d know how to dodge saber-toothed tigers.

我们的进化祖先需要记住可怕的时刻，这样他们才能知道如何躲避剑齿虎。

But what I need is different: a way to remind myself that even when things are difficult, I am safe.

但我需要的是不同的：一种提醒自己的方式，即使事情很困难，我也是安全的。

David and I call stretches of particularly happy times Super Love Moon after a supermoon that happened when we were apart for a few weeks.

大卫和我在我们分开几周后发生的超级月亮之后，将一段特别快乐的时光称为“超级爱情月亮”。

He was climbing on a glacier with two friends while I was navigating family conflict at my parents’ house.

当我在父母家里处理家庭冲突时，他和两个朋友正在攀登冰川。

When we reunited, we ran toward each other.

当我们重逢时，我们向对方跑去。

He lifted me off the ground, still wearing mountaineering boots.

他把我从地上抱起来，我还穿着登山靴。

That afternoon, we lay in bed, told stories, shared that when we both saw the moon, we’d thought of the other, and how it represented the scale of our love for the other.

那天下午，我们躺在床上，讲故事，分享当我们看到月亮时，我们想到了对方，以及它如何代表了我们对对方的爱的规模。

Those fleeting stretches still happen cyclically, often summoned and dispelled by my own waxing and waning cycle.

这些转瞬即逝的延伸仍然周期性地发生，经常被我自己的盛衰周期召唤和驱散。

When we’re in a sweet phase, David urges me to remember it.

当我们处于甜蜜阶段时，大卫敦促我记住这一点。

“Write it down!” he said the other week, my head resting on his chest.

“写下来！”前一周他说道，我的头靠在他的胸口上。

“You need to journal about this.”

“你需要记录这件事。”

He worries I write more about challenging times, which is probably right.

他担心我写得更多是关于充满挑战的时代，这可能是对的。

After we fight, he often stumbles on me journaling furiously in the kitchen.

我们吵架后，他经常偶然发现我在厨房里疯狂地写日记。

As Naomi Shihab Nye writes, “When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up, / something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.” Happiness slips away, all those hours spent wrapped in limbs, running fingers through hair, smiling so hard the back of our skulls hurt.

正如内奥米·希哈布·奈 (Naomi Shihab Nye) 所写，“当你周围的世界崩溃时，你需要捡起一些东西，/手里拿着一些东西，比如票根或零钱。”幸福悄然溜走，所有这些时间都被四肢包裹着，手指梳理着头发，微笑得让我们的后脑勺都疼。

It’s like trying to describe altered states—it never sounds as good as it felt.

这就像试图描述改变的状态一样——听起来并不像感觉上那么好。

But that’s why I am here, writing this down.

但这就是我在这里写下来的原因。

It’s why I keep coming back to this story.

这就是为什么我不断回到这个故事。

I want to braid together the threads of our days and give both the happy and hard times their due.

我想把我们的日子编织在一起，给予快乐和艰难的时光。

It is a form of deep dependence, this woven-together existence, living alongside each other through every shared domestic task, every stage of the moon, every state of despair and euphoria.

这是一种深度依赖的形式，这种交织在一起的存在，通过每一项共同的家务、月亮的每一个阶段、每一种绝望和欣快的状态，彼此并肩生活。

Separate the balls of dough, roll them into strands, press them together at the end, braid them, press them together again, fluff up the loaf.

将面团分开，搓成长条，最后将它们压在一起，编成辫子，再压在一起，使面包蓬松。

I want to see the variation of our days not as inconsistencies but part of what forms the texture of the weave.

我希望看到我们时代的变化不是不一致，而是构成编织纹理的一部分。

There are nights when I cry as he turns away to sleep, nights when we tear into challah, nights when we host raucous dinner parties, nights when we share our deepest feelings and fears, nights when we read magazines next to each other, nights when David says with excitement, “I’m going to listen to a podcast and scrub our baking sheets.” A story, even a coherent one, is never just one thing.

有些夜晚，当他转过身去睡觉时，我会哭泣；有些夜晚，我们撕扯白面包；有些夜晚，我们举办喧闹的晚宴；有些夜晚，我们分享最深的感受和恐惧；有些夜晚，我们并肩阅读杂志；有些夜晚，大卫兴奋地说：“我要听播客，擦洗我们的烤盘。”一个故事，即使是一个连贯的故事，也绝不只是一件事。

These days, I’m trying to do what the therapist says: learn how to tell our ongoing love story so I can learn how to live it.

这些天，我正在尝试按照治疗师所说的去做：学习如何讲述我们正在进行的爱情故事，这样我就可以学习如何生活。

Diana Saverin is a writer who lives in Anchorage, Alaska.

戴安娜·萨维林是一位住在阿拉斯加安克雷奇的作家。

Her work has appeared in The Atlantic, Outside, The Guardian, and others.

她的作品曾出现在《大西洋月刊》、《Outside》、《卫报》等杂志上。

Editor: Krista StevensCopyeditor: Cheri Lucas Rowlands

编辑：克里斯塔·史蒂文斯文案编辑：Cheri Lucas Rowlands