Planned spontaneity

In the midst of pre-marital counseling eight months ago, our dear friends asked the Mister and me to identify a prominent source of conflict in our relationship. The Mister and I glanced at one another knowingly and tried to suppress the grins creeping across our faces.

"She's a planner," the Mister declared.

"And he's spontaneous," I added.

The Mister is impelled to act on an emotional impulse. When he has to cook up a plan in advance, he gets frazzled. Just a tad. Okay, perhaps sometimes a lot.

I thrive when mulling over and organizing all the details. When meticulously coordinated itineraries aren't executed accordingly, I get frazzled. Just a tad. Okay, perhaps sometimes a lot.

We sporadically laugh and praise God for how he has brought us together, and how He continues to use our dissimilar preferences to complement one another for the better.
I admire how the Mister doesn't fret over minute specifics that do not ultimately matter, which encourages me to trust the ultimate Planner better. I am learning to incorporate spontaneity into my repertoire. The Mister is learning to embrace detail-oriented organization. Such a swell compromise is rather amusing to witness unfold in daily life.

Take this one time not too long ago, when we planned to meander down to the beach.
I'm partial to the quaint idea of sunbeams awash on pristine sandy shores and rolling crescent waves along the horizon with kites soaring overhead; but I don't know how to swim, so I can only revel in such majesty from ashore. On the contrary, the Mister haunted the beach during college. Whilst honeymooning, all he wanted to do was swim with the dolphins. But on that fateful day for a pre-planned beach venture, the Mister was wracked with pounding headaches and all sorts of ailments, so in an attempt to redeem our afternoon, we just drove around and made an impromptu stop at a chipper cafe.


After dining al fresco, we realized the eatery was a mere jolly jaunt's distance from the beach. Imagine our resonating glee upon such a discovery that we dared not pass up.

For those who wonder what the Mister looks like when I halt every other second to snap 10,000 photographs, wonder no longer.

The Mister gazed forlornly at the steady stream of rollicking beachcombers, wishing he were in their shoes. Er, feet.

So we'd a dosage of planned spontaneity, for we ended up at the beach after all, traipsing down the boardwalk, merrymaking beneath the sun, and cherishing one another's company. "You love being spontaneous," the Mister grinned.