I walked down to the soft sand, flip-flops in one hand, water bottle in the other, a large towel tossed over my shoulder. It wasn’t too hot, just the right temperature, I thought, as I fanned the towel out over the sand. I had retreated to the beach, a ten-minute drive from our townhouse, after getting into another disagreement with my new husband, Grif. We had been married for seven months now, and recently, it seemed like we were arguing about nothing and everything at once. A misinterpreted comment, an off-putting tone, or a trivial remark would be extracted from one of our everyday conversations. It would then be dissected, analyzed, and pulled apart until both of us were left feeling frustrated and unheard. Our clashing conversation would continue, circling further and further from resolution. In the end, neither of us would even remember what we were arguing about in the first place. Exhausted and emotionally battered, we would retreat to our corners and wonder how the one person we loved most in the world could hurt us so badly.

In this state of inner turmoil, I laid down on my beach towel, face upturned towards the sky. Most of the beachgoers had already left, the sun’s rays beginning to wane, as another day came to a close in South Florida. I closed my eyes and imagined all my frustration, all my anger, and all my sadness, dissolving into the spaces between the millions of sand grains beneath me. I tried to tune out the cries of a few remaining children splashing in the waves, their voices quickly swallowed by the vast ocean. I then imagined the sand and earth herself supporting me, providing solace and healing balm for my fractured heart. It wasn’t that I needed to be right in our disagreements – I just needed my husband to hear me, to try to see things from my perspective. Perhaps he too was fighting for his right to be heard.

Previously, I thought that Grif and I were immune to the petty quarrels and dramas that seemed to easily befall our friends and family. We had even earned a bit of a reputation amongst our friend group for being an ideal couple. After once again hearing Grif gush and wax on about me, our friend Stefanie would exclaim to her partner, “Brandon! Why don’t you compliment me like that anymore?! You should be more like Grif!” while giving Brandon a good smack in the arm. To which Brandon would nervously laugh, “Damn buddy, you’re makin’ me look bad, Grif!” while rubbing his now sore arm.

But sitting on the beach with a now sore heart, I wasn’t quite so sure about Grif and my presumed natural immunity to disagreements. We got along swimmingly during the first five years we were together before marriage. But in the past seven months since our wedding, it became a different story. It seemed like all our previously suppressed emotions, deeply seated insecurities, and hidden fears were revealing themselves with a new ferocity. We were clearly going through the growing pains of being newlyweds. 

I rolled over on my beach towel. Seagulls landed near me, picked at some garbage, and then alighted again. I had always vowed to never be that couple – that couple that argues in front of others, that couple that makes everyone around them uncomfortable, that couple that defaults to defensiveness. Were our frequent disputes recently a sign that Grif and I were destined for the same fate?

I tried to stop my mind from spiraling. I focused on the drifting clouds that formed and unformed and then passed in the now rose-hued sky above me. A father and son walked by, chatting about making mac and cheese for dinner and, “Don’t get sand on the lady.” The whole world turning, spinning, and shifting all around me, while I lay immobilized in misery on my towel. I sighed, feeling the acute heaviness in my heart. I picked up my cat-eye sunglasses and shielded my sadness behind their dark lenses.

And that’s when I noticed it – a tiny rainbow lit up the sand next to me. It sparkled and shimmered on the sand grains in all its colorful glory. The waning rays of spring sunshine had reflected off my metal water bottle and generated the bright prism. Even more surprising, a white feather stood upright in the sand next to it, like a sentinel saying, “Look here Lexy! Don’t despair, focus on the light all around you!” I marveled at the ephemeral rainbow, sent from the heavens, just for me. Right when I needed it, a small miracle appeared before my eyes.

I sat upright on my beach towel, and a cool breeze caressed my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I began to think, perhaps the goal is not to chase a happy marriage. Instead, perhaps the goal is to create a colorful marriage. To form a union that embraces the full spectrum of human emotions and experiences. A marriage that allows for the flaming red of anger and the hearty orange of connection. We could call it a technicolor or prismatic romance. A marriage that embraces the cool yellow of calm and the stinging green of envy. If any color were missing, no rainbow would form. A marriage that celebrates the effervescent blue of the bittersweet, the deep indigo of sorrow, and the ultraviolet of cosmic union. All rainbows depend upon how we see things, upon our perspective. Perhaps the real goal in marriage is to shine brighter and brighter, and to have all our human colors reflected in their purest, most unadulterated form.

As the sun set, I picked up my towel, flip-flops, and water bottle. The tiny rainbow vanished as quickly as it had appeared. I headed home to my husband, feeling lighter and brighter. I knew our marriage would continue to shine on as we embraced the full spectrum of our emotions for one another and began to create a truly prismatic romance. 

love, Lexy