"Love actually is...all around." When Hugh Grant's character narrates the opening of the movie Love Actually, he admits love — the love in evidence at the arrivals gate of Heathrow Airport — is not particularly dignified. It's awkward and pedestrian. But it's pervasive.

Shot after shot of homecomings and reunions reveal something profound in everyday love. Siblings, grandparents and their children, and old friends reach out for each other, smiling and crying. They hold each other dearly.

By nature love is exponential. It multiplies to the beat of a steady drum. It keeps families together, protects us, and makes the world go round. It is quiet and vital.

Love actually is also...terribly hard work. Things get in the way — like thinking love should move me and elevate me to star status. For years I suffered under the girlish delusion that love means having it all — drama, attention, and romance. Even older and wiser I haven't truly let go of what I think love should be long enough to see what love is.

Instead, in my head I created the perfect man by adding bits and pieces of memory to a smattering of emails from a former beau halfway around the world. I haven't seen him in 15 years, but on the skeleton of a boy I once knew, my imagination draped all sort of grown-up traits, creating a man who would put me first, would match my intellectual curiosity, and who would attract me and play with me exactly how I wanted him to.

But that man didn't really exist. And as I dreamed of him, of how being with him would change my life, I missed out on what I already had: Rob. He's imperfect, unspectacular. To be sure, ours is no dramatic romance. But it's comforting. 

Love actually is...all around. But we must wake up — grow up — to see it.

I've written about our happy days and sad, our intimacies and lack thereof, our dreams and traditions, and how those things have changed. Rob and I have both enjoyed each others' families and been hurt by them. Sometimes we've put each other first, and sometimes we've neglected each others' need entirely.

Rob has drunk himself near to death, stopped drinking altogether, and then found a balance. I've both searched for apartments so I could move out on my own, and gave my all to couples therapy in hopes we'd find the key to a happier marriage.

I've written extensively on my doubt, and shared my wavering heart as honestly as possible, even when my wishy-washiness seemed a terribly embarrassing mark of weakness.

In the throes of the holidays, with the New Year approaching, I've been playing my part as usual. Rob and I are having family and friends over tonight.

Who knows how we'll seem to some of them who don't know the troubles we've had, and who don't know we have a sexless marriage. Perhaps we'll seem the perfect hosts, with the perfect demeanor, with the perfect relationship.

But play-acting has never suited me, and I believe it's time for lasting change.

I'm not leaving Rob, and I'm no more sure about this marriage; I'm getting ready to leave you readers.

I joined First Wives World believing that through writing I would come to a better understanding of what was wrong with my relationship, and I would change it. Indeed, comments both online and off from readers have brought new perspective to my marriage, and I've felt both more empowered to take from life exactly what I want, and also more settled in present circumstances.

Overall, this is still an ill-fitting marriage. Perhaps I just need to grow up and let go of certain ideas about identity, or selfish dreams. Perhaps I need to learn how to better recapture the joy of youth here in present circumstances.

You don't KNOW if you don't TRY. So I'm applying myself to my marriage to see if it might work. And things are shifting.

Then at our last counseling session Rob spilled to our therapist that I had complained our work with her had been overly focused on him. I had told him that in confidence! I was horrified when — apparently unaware this would be a problem — he let on. I was left sitting there sheepishly, making excuses as to why I said what I said ("It was in jest!"), trying to convince her I had no problems with how things were going.

Anyway, I didn't mind the neglect. Rob is paying for these sessions; I guess the unbalanced attention allowed me to feel okay about not contributing to the fee. So as the therapist spent our time week after week asking Rob about his relationship to drinking and encouraging him to work on communication and connection, I didn't argue. It's not like I wouldn't benefit immensely from his improvements in those areas, so I watched patiently and hoped the work would stick.

And I assumed she felt it important for me to witness his determination and growth. Why else would she kinda ignore me for him all those times?

Whatever we're doing there, it seems to be working. I've felt more kindly and warm toward Rob. We're both more quiet and calm — with each other and others. I mean, I didn't even blow when he told our therapist about my complaints. It felt like a betrayal for him to embarrass me like that, but whatever. Perhaps I've finally learned not to sweat the small stuff.  

Re-reading my last post about not taking Rob to the end-of-yoga-teacher-training party, it worried me how desperately I wanted to avoid involving Rob in the new step I'm taking in my life. I wanted to avoid introducing him to my new friends. Is this telling? Does it mean that though I won't admit it to myself, what I really want is to have an altogether separate life from him?

Part of me wanted to bring him that night. After all, he's been incredibly helpful to me as I've been in the program — he gave me rides to the studio, made me dinners after a long days of training, and generally took care of things at home when I was swamped with homework. If I'm not sure my heart's in our relationship, am I taking advantage by accepting such support?

But there was that moment, in the midst of mingling at the party when I missed Rob. I met a fascinating filmmaker he would have had a great chat with. I thought of how much he would have loved to have been there, and maybe I even wished he was.

That's the thing about being married. There are moments when you are together but you long for independent experience. Then there are the moments when you are apart and you see something that you would have connected around, and you miss your mate. But life doesn't give you what you want when you want it. Maybe this isn't a case of "still haven't found what I'm looking for," and more a case of "still can't manage to grow up and settle in." 

Not only have I neglected to put the Leary theory into effect, but I've acted quite the opposite of a married woman who has taken separation off the table.

Tonight one of my fellow yoga teachers-in-training is hosting a dinner party for our group and our significant others to recognize our hard work and transformation — like a pre-graduation party. It's a chance enjoy each other's company before the stress of the final exam and practicum after which (if we pass) we'll leave the group and go into the world as registered yoga teachers.

And I never even told Rob about it.

This morning he woke up with a terrible cold, and I had an out. "Aw," I said, "I forgot to mention this get-together tonight, and now you won't be able to come." 

It's not that I'm embarrassed of him or want to keep him out of some part of my life. I just don't want to babysit. I want mingle and enjoy myself.  

When you have a child on your hip, it's harder to make real connections with people. Instead, you're busy interpreting for the child, cajoling him, attending to him. This is what I have to do with Rob. He just blanks out otherwise; he turns into the most uninteresting, white-bread guy you ever met. He says nothing at all, which I find stiflingly uninspiring.

Perhaps it not very yogi-like of me to say — maybe, in fact, I sound like a complete bitch — but I'd rather go alone than have him by my side tonight. 

Sick day equals time for TV. I guess I'd forgotten that daytime television really is crap. But I just saw something rather compelling. On The Bonnie Hunt Show, Denis Leary claimed the key to the success of his marriage is that he and his wife agreed to never divorce. My first thought was "That's brilliant, Denis." But there could be something to it.

Apparently, Leary thinks the divorce rate is high simply because divorce is an option. If it weren't an option, you'd find ways to make your marriage work.

Tell that to the women stuck in abusive relationships. Hopefully, he'd give them special dispensation.

I kind of hated what he said. But I've learned strong reactions can come from fear of the truth. So why not investigate?

I change my mind so often about Rob and me it's embarrassing. What if we lived by the Denis Leary rule? Would we settle in to this marriage more easily and enjoy ourselves? If we stopped hedging about our long-term chances, could we get on with life? Get a dog? Buy a condo? Start a family?

Truth is, I can't imagine feeling sure about Rob and me. Perhaps certainty about anything is just not in my nature. Maybe I'm too analytical. Or is it inherent dissatisfaction? I'd hate to think I'm just a negative Nellie come what may, but who knows? 

Perhaps an experiment is in order: Take the idea of separation off the table for a few weeks and see what develops.

Okay, that last one was a quick post. When I wrote last weekend I was still in the midst of the family frenzy that is the holidays. No time to think, only DO!

Turns out Thanksgiving weekend was a great time despite the awkward moments and challenges endemic to the family only a year or two into divorce. 

Of course, the divorce in my family is my mother and father's divorce. And if this past holiday is a litmus test, it seems we're all still okay despite them deciding to tear the family apart. (Okay, I'm being dramatic. I've admitted I'm glad they split — they should have years ago.)

I need to take heed that good times didn't end when my parents divorced, for the holidays inevitably invite a downward spiral in my journey as a contemplator. There's nothing worse during the holidays for someone considering separation — it's the worst time to be caught between staying and leaving.

Twinkling tree lights, eggnog, and brass carols can remind me of childhood, of love, of warmth. But when you think it might be your last holiday with this particular mate in this particular home where you've put such a good faith effort into loving and celebrating, it's nothing if not bittersweet.

So one moment you're sad, but the next you're putting on a good face and trying — REALLY TRYING! — to enjoy the season. For meaningful connection this holiday season just might be the cement that turns your flimsy relationship into a rock-steady marriage ready to support growth and kids and a whole generation's worth of holidays.

It's my dream: A big family full of kids of all ages romping about the house as turkey dinner cooks, later coming home from college with their mates, and eventually bringing home children of their own.

No kids yet, so I'm not sure how I'm going to get there.  

All that has transpired among my family this holiday takes longer to digest than even the biggest turkey holiday.

My mother and step-father (still getting used to calling this stranger any sort of father) swept through town town in a fit of self-importance, leaving behing gifts from their recent Mexican holiday.

The dishes were barely dry and it was time for a seven-hour drive to upstate NY where my sister and I removed my father's car from his possession for his own safety (dementia has robbed him of his driving skills). We lied and said we accidentally crashed it but actually put it into storage. 

Holidays...what fun. But who had my back through all the bickering and tears? Rob. Gotta hand it to that guy. He's a good one to have aroun.

For some reason, Rob is less needy lately. When he isn't in constant monologue trying to describe every experience he had while we were apart during the day, I'm more curious about how he spends his time. I have questions for him and we can dialog. This works for me. I guess without Rob breathing down my neck, the time we do spend together seems more...pleasant!

Our trip to the meditation center was helpful — our program allowed us time together apart from the group, plus time apart from each other. We struck a nice balance.

Due to the quiet-hours rule and no television, we went to bed together at the same time — a big change in routine. At home Rob retires after 11 and I fall asleep on the couch. I usually wake around 1 or 2 and go to bed. That leaves no awake time in bed together. At Kripalu we stayed up comparing notes on the workshop and laughing about quirks of the other participants. I felt downright close to him! (I even let him spoon me as we fell asleep.) 

This closeness has come just in time for the stressful holidays. We're about to embark on a four-day family extravaganza covering 1200 miles, three families, and two turkey dinners. Into that mix throw a new step-father; a father with Alzhiemer's and a needy girlfriend; and a brother who says he's not going to show up, but just might, probably drunk, flask in hand. If there's a time I ever needed a partner, it's now. 

One day I'm up, the next day I'm down. One day I'm indifferent about my marriage, and soon after I feel some hope. When I first started writing this blog, this was often the case. Now the see-saw effect is back.

Today is a hopeful day. Rob and I are just back from a meditation and yoga retreat where we truly enjoyed each other's company. I liked it when we withdrew to the safety of our room to share notes on the dharma talks and secret feelings about the sometimes overwhelmingly enthusiastic New Age devotees surrounding us.

We made our own little world within the little world of the center, and it was a bonding experience. There was giggling, and even a bit of cuddling. New territory. Or at least territory we haven't visited in some time.

That the focus of the retreat was lovingkindness meditation probably helped. (Duh.) The point of the weekend was to grow our capacity for mindfulness and compassion. If there are two ingredients more critical to the health of a relationship, I don't know what they are.

So let's see how we do. Rob and I have been practicing this meditation off and on for a few years, and it certainly has helped me open up to my father, a former "most difficult person" in my life. But to transform a marriage?

The see-saw effect may continue, but perhaps more often we'll tip in favor of compassion...leading to true forgiveness...and (dare I say) true intimacy?