25April2025
Emma and I have been together for twentysix years. We met at university, married after graduation, and two years later our son Tom was born. A perfectly ordinary English family.
Tom grew up, married and moved to London with his wife. When he left, the quiet in our house changed dramatically. Suddenly there was nothing much to talk about, and we didnt even feel the need to. Wed known each other insideout, could finish each others sentences with a glance, yet now we floated past each other with a few words and then silence.
When I first started work after university, there was a woman in the office, about fortyfive, who seemed ancient to my younger self. She often took winter holidays and always returned with a flawless tan. Her boyish short, lightblonde haircut only emphasized the tanned complexion of her face.
Must be a tanning salon, huh? whispered my new colleague, Lucy, to Emma.
One day Emma couldnt hold back any longer and asked the woman where she got such a glow in the bleak winter.
We were on a ski break in the Scottish Highlands, she replied.
Really? At your age? Emma gasped.
The woman laughed heartily.
At my age? Im only fortyfive. When you reach my years youll realise this is the real youth not foolishness, but maturity. Remember, love, boredom is the biggest enemy of a marriage. All affairs and divorces start from boredom. When the kids grow up life becomes calm and predictable. Thats when many men start to feel trapped. We women never have time to be bored. We work, look after the children, and the house falls on our shoulders. Meanwhile the man lounges on the sofa, thinks about how to use his idle energy. Some drink, some look for new thrills, as they say, looking for a different lady.
I was naïve, thinking my husband was just tired after long hours, that nothing was wrong with him sitting in front of the telly, not drinking and being harmless. Yet I kept buzzing around the house like a busy bee. Then one day he told me hed fallen for someone else, that life with me had become boring, and he left. Can you imagine?
When I remarried, I behaved completely differently. I made my husband share the chores, we took weekend trips out of town, went skiing in winter. I never gave him a moments peace, kept him moving, never let him linger on the sofa. Were still together, the kids are grown, and we travel around the country. It may not suit everyone, but you can draw your own conclusions.
Emma never forgot those words. She began to notice that James, after a hearty dinner, would shuffle off to the sofa and stare at the television. It grew harder to coax him out of the house. Once he used to love hiking, paddling down rivers on inflatable rafts, and surprise her with elaborate birthday plans.
She tried to shake him out of his routinebought tickets to the theatre, arranged a cruise on a threedecked riverboat around the Cotswolds.
In the theatre James dozed, at friends houses he yawed after a couple of glasses of wine, and always rushed back to his beloved sofa. On the boat he complained about the cramped cabin. As for skiing, his growing waist made him resist any vigorous sport.
When Emma suggested a movie, he looked at her with sorrowful eyes and said, Where are you dragging me? I just want to rest this weekend and catch up on sleep. Go with your friends.
When we first lived together, James and his mates would go on expeditions, forming a closeknit group that loved whitewater rafting and kayaking on fast rivers. He played guitar and sang decently.
I never joined those tripswork never let me, I was pregnant, then I stayed home with our little boy.
Dont give him too much leave, warned my mother. Hell find a hobby buddy and maybe something more.
For cheating you dont need a trek, you can find someone right here. I trust James, I replied.
I truly trusted him and waited for his return from the wilds.
Eventually the group leader settled down, got a family, and the adventures dwindled.
One lazy Sunday I slumped onto the sofa with an old photo album. At first reluctantly, then with growing enthusiasm, James flipped through the pictures, reminiscing.
Dont you want to relive a bit of the old days? I asked.
No. And with whom? Everyones got their own lives, grandchildren, he replied.
With me. Ive never been on those trips. Show some initiative, call your old mates, maybe someone will agree.
Are you serious? We were reckless youths, now were?
Too sensible? I quipped. Then lets go to the theatre this weekend, have a cultured night, I said, slamming the album shut and sending a puff of dust into the air.
James thought about it. Later at dinner he said, I spoke to a few of the lads. Tolik promised to map out a route; he still has his old tents. We can rent a raft from the sports club. I could see his eyes light up, which made me happy.
He finally showed interest in life beyond the sofa, only speaking about the upcoming trek.
You know, love, youre a beginner; itll be tough at first. The river, the rapids, the mosquitos. Well be sleeping on the ground in sleeping bags, no showers, no proper loo, and well have to crawl under bushes. Youll probably want to turn back on day one, James warned.
I wont give up, I promised.
Fine then, he said, eyeing my manicure, my soft slippers, my cosy robe. Well need proper gear, not high heels.
We went shopping together; he wouldnt let me walk away.
I know youll buy swimsuits and dresses, but for the trek you need warm clothes and sturdy boots.
I trusted his judgement and obeyed without question. The preparation took over me as well. Soon the backpacks were packed.
Put it on, lets see how ready you are, James instructed.
Creaking and wobbling like an old plate, I hoisted the pack and immediately felt its weight crush me. I realised Id have to trek over uneven ground, through gullies and brambles.
Take it off, he ordered. Lets see what youre hiding.
I relieved myself of the burden.
He dug out hair rollers, a makeup pouch, a hairdryer, countless tubes of cream and shampoo, plus a heap of gardenclothes unsuitable for hiking.
Mosquitos will have a field day, he said. Maybe you should stay home? He looked at me with pity.
I stared blankly.
James cleared the unnecessary items, leaving only the essentials. The pack became much lighter.
I can manage, I said, feeling a surge of confidence.
I remembered how Id once tried to pull him into the theatre and the arts, forcing my interests on him. Hed begrudgingly come at first. As a wife, a steadfast companion, I should stand by my husband in both hardship and joy.
The closer we got to departure, the more doubts gnawed at me. At the station we waited for our train, along with three other men and one woman.
Are the rest of your friends divorced? I asked quietly.
No, their wives are at home with grandchildren.
The train ride was lively; the men told jokes, James strummed his guitar from the luggage rack. I decided that if things went on like this, I could really enjoy it.
But after alighting a few miles from the station, my back ached from the pack, my legs trembled, sweat soaked my face. I felt ashamed to complain; the men were hauling sleeping bags, tents, and a deflated boat.
The countryside was beautiful, yet I was too focused on not tripping, not falling, not breaking a bone. When we finally reached the river, I just wanted to lie on the grass and never move again. The men quickly lit a fire, erected their tents as if they hadnt tired at all.
Youll get used to it, encouraged Tanya, one of the wives. Lets fetch water and prepare dinner.
Tears wanted to fall for a warm shower and a soft bed.
Then the atmosphere shifted. James played his guitar by the fire, his voice clear and warm. I forgot how handsome his singing was. He seemed a different manalive and cheerful. I saw again the James I fell for, head over heels.
Thinking of running off? he asked the next day, examining the calluses on my hands from the raft.
No, I declared firmly.
At the rapids I hesitated. The river roared, sharp stones jutted from the water. I wanted to suggest staying on the bank, but seeing Jamess teasing grin, I kept quiet, clinging to the rafts side, abandoning the oars for fear of plunging into the icy flow.
When the rapids cleared, I exhaled loudly, shouting my triumph.
We returned home after a week, exhausted yet exhilarated and full of stories. I realised I would miss the new friends, the campfire songs, the open air, the silence.
After a shower and a hearty dinner, we sat side by side at the laptop, scrolling through the photos, teasing each other. We hadnt done that in ages. The trek had brought us closer; we now shared interests again. We fell asleep entwined, just as in our early days.
Next year shall we go again? I whispered, pressing close to his warm side.
Enjoyed it, did you? he laughed. Its not a night out at the theatre or a dinner at a restaurant. Its life.
Now I know how to prepare better. You wont be embarrassed for me, I promised.
And I wasnt embarrassed at all. For a firsttimer you were brilliant. You surprised me.
His praise made my heart glow.
When Tom called, I rattled off the whole adventure.
Your life sounds wild! I thought youd be bored and sad, he said.
Were missing you, how are things? I asked.
Were waiting for a baby, either a boy or a girl, he replied cheerfully.
Back at work after the holiday I returned radiant, eyes sparkling, wearing a beaded bracelet.
Did you holiday down south? You look barely tanned, a colleague remarked, pointing at the bracelet.
Its a talisman. A shaman gave it to me, I said.
So, if you want to rekindle the spark, dont sit at homeshare your partners interests. Extreme sport isnt for everyone, but you can always find something else. As some writer once put it, Never regret the effort you put in to save love.
Lesson: Boredom kills; curiosity and shared adventure keep the heart beating.
