Midlife Compromise

COUPLING by Clara Silverstein - The Boston Globe: "After 15 years of marriage, I thought I knew what my husband liked to do in his free time: visit Home Depot. Then one day, shortly after he turned 40, he announced to me that he wanted to buy a boat instead of another power tool.

This was big news from a man who had been so single-minded about home renovations that he was shoring up a sagging kitchen wall the night I went into labor with our first child. As our brood grew to include two children, we always planned family outings to museums or playgrounds around Dad's carpentry, painting, and landscaping projects.

Now George was trying to get me excited about a brochure for the New England Boat Show, and powerboat catalogs with aggressive brand names like Contender, Pursuit, and Intrepid. He didn't just want to go fishing on the occasional Saturday charter trip. He wanted his own boat, and he wanted his family on board with his new hobby: exploring the coast, lounging in our bathing suits, and, most of all, happily fishing.

The trouble was, I preferred navigating the great outdoors on two wheels or two feet. Furthermore, our children were reaching the age when they barely wanted to spend any time with their parents, let alone hours trapped in a small space. Letting him redefine our limited leisure time was uncharted territory. I had always valued setting the family's weekend agenda, but now my husband wanted to be captain. I somehow had to transform myself into a willing first mate and keep a crew of two tweens from staging a mutiny.

At first, I tried to talk him out of it. I was training for a marathon and not about to sacrifice my runs along the Charles River. When I pointed out that he was simply having a somewhat early midlife crisis, he reminded me that I was, too, having taken up running at age 41. Undeterred by my lack of enthusiasm, he insisted on going shopping "just to see what's out there." I had little stamina for these forays, and often ended up sitting in the cockpit of some beautiful boat we couldn't afford while our son listened to his iPod and our daughter played cards. I was so far from salty that I was sour.

In a strange way, finishing the marathon helped convince me that I needed to give in. His persistence about the boat reminded me of how I stuck to my training, even in 95-degree temperatures. If he wanted the boat this badly, and we could find a way to afford it, I needed to stop digging in heels that were sore anyway. He deserved a chance to escape from the responsibilities piling up in the rest of his life as much as I deserved my runner's high.

The boat we found was 20 years old and not gently used, but it did have enough space for fishing, sunbathing, and even sleeping. In the spring, when the harbor was mostly free of ice, George piloted our vessel to its new slip in Charlestown. Just stepping onto the dock made him so happy that I dubbed his expression the "boating smile."

He had what he wanted, but his fantasy of a carefree life on the water needed a few adjustments. An old boat needs new (and often expensive) parts. The children holed up in the cabin with their electronic gadgets and declared the boat boring. Meanwhile, when I was on deck, my hair pinned down and Polar Fleece jacket zipped up (no bathing suit needed when it's 50 degrees), I was making a few adjustments of my own. I learned to read charts and navigate. I helped check the lobster traps that we set in the harbor. I even took the wheel sometimes, though a loud honk from a tanker once scared me so much I handed over the helm - and all pretense of competence.

We all discovered that coastal New England is far more charming without the traffic jams. And one July day, when it was stifling in the city, George hitched an inflatable tube to the back of the boat. I climbed into the tube with our daughter, and we motored out toward Boston Light. Soon we were caroming from one side of the wake to the other, shrieking and wiping saltwater from our eyes. Above us, on the fly bridge, my husband and son smiled and waved, their hair flying back. Behind us stretched the Boston skyline etched in haze. My daughter gave the thumbs-up sign for more speed. We looked at each other and laughed. Following my husband had taken me on a new adventure, and I was finally glad to be along for the ride, with a boating smile of my own.

Clara Silverstein is a freelance writer living in Newton."