champion

"Can we talk, um, about stuff?"

My request to eat ice cream with my husband is not unusual, though it has become problematic thanks to a recently discovered gluten problem. The things on top of my mind had nothing to do with wheat amino acids or calories or anything of the sort.

He seemed a bit shocked that I suggested we dialogue over the dinner table instead of in front of the television. Without a proper couch, or even living room set up, this is uncomfortable. I don't need it to be anymore awkward than that which I bring myself.

I'm anxious.

Rocky road, sitting in little glass bowls, staring at me.

"Talk to me, baby. What did you want to discuss?"

"Nothing..."

Wait for it.

"Well, I mean, when you left college what was your mindset? What helped you press on?"

Husband is a wealth of knowledge and self-motivation. He knows no failure and to not say no to himself. He's not only a champion of his own, but my champion.

He tells me the story of taking two months to complete a portfolio, as his parents graciously let him come home for a time. He then got the job he wanted. He knew nothing else.

He encourages me, holding me as he tells me the things I am accomplishing that no one else has done that he knows of. He tells me my mind is a torrential sea, swaying me back and forth. I need to be Neptune, controlling it's waves and ebbs, controlling it instead of the alternative.

He is my champion.

I will be victorious for him.