As this dance competition weekend winds down, my wife and I prepare our return to what we’ve called our normal lives back home.

Every day is a learning experience for me, the past few days combining my acceptance of the life I could have had had I pursued an acting career and my acceptance of the life I chose, marrying a woman who is still shocked by all the exposed bra/slip straps and “skimpy” outfits she frequently pointed out to me while watching the female dancers around her.

Not quite a dual life.

An ordinary life of reality tempered on the fire of a “what if…?” imagination.

I was a type of BMOC (big man on campus) in high school, attracting a number of people of both sexes because of my stage acting, so I early experienced the life of a male sex object.

My wife says she never was a sex object, depending solely on her intelligence to attract attention.

That, in a nutshell, describes our lifelong relationship, my letting her self-criticizing self-image “keep me in my place,” so to speak.

I don’t know how much I can grow as a self-actualizing person based on the internal model of our relationship in my thoughts, caught in a whirlwind of thinking I can become a better dancer for my wife at the exact same time on the dance floor listening to her constantly verbalized inner voice of “I’m short and fat and slower than the pretty women who dance so well in your arms.”

I just don’t know if I have in me any more to pretend that I care about getting my wife to improve her self-image and mine at the same time.

However, financially, I am relatively stuck to my wife if I want to continue to live the comfortably lazy life of a “kept man.”

It’s as if I’ve personified the cliche “misery begets company.”

If my wife does not want a husband who’s a sexy dancer, then I’ve got to change our lifestyles.

She wants her turn as the “kept woman,” desiring me to be the financial support of us.

She never noticed that when I was her financial equal, I was attracted to and attractive to a large number of fish in the sea, one imaginary step away from making my independence and self-actualization a reality outside of my relationship with her.

I quit working in part because I couldn’t handle the idea that the possibility of making myself happier might include saying goodbye to a marriage with my childhood friend on whom I depended emotionally and supported emotionally my whole life.

I’ve got some heavy thinking to do over the next few weeks, wondering what the cost to my happiness is tied to financial laziness on my part.

Not to mention a yard sculpture, Kickstarter campaign and other projects to push forward.