The Unexpected Delight of Collaborating with My Wife

It’s been a while since you’ve heard from me over here at Midlife Field Guide HQ. There’s been travel mixed with life events that have kept me occupied over the past few months. In fact, to prove the point, I’m actually on a bullet train whipping its way between Tokyo and Kyoto as I type this. Fancy, huh? :)

But there is something I wanted to share with you. An update on me and Suz’s 25th anniversary Fiddler on the Roof–inspired production that’s pleasing me to no end. If you’re new to this adventure, you can read about it here, here, and here.

The big headline that’s tickling me right now is that it’s going well. Really well. Thanks to the help of some amazing writer friends who have kicked our asses in just the right ways, Suz and I have pushed ourselves and have now written something that we’re genuinely proud of. It tells our story, the story of our lives together, woven in somewhat absurdly with the songs of Fiddler on the Roof. It’s certainly not what we imagined when we started this process, but it feels totally right. And the strangest thing is that when we stand back and look at what we’ve written, it actually feels like a “show.”

My previous collaborations with Suz include some not-small-at-all things, like raising a couple of kids and making a home. These were all creative projects, but this is the first time we’ve been true creative collaborators on a project like this. She’s helped me with my writing many times — her editing of each and every Substack post I write has pushed me to be far more honest in my writing than I ever imagined I would be, something I’m grateful for every time she sits down, reads my work, and points out my blind spots.

And, frankly, I have a few blind spots.

In my twenties, fresh into my career, I received feedback from an employer that I had this quirk: the two of us would have a conversation, we’d agree on something, and then I’d go off and do it my own way anyway. I remember telling my mother about this feedback, and she could totally relate. Apparently, parenting me was very much the same experience.

I assumed that co-writing the script for our anniversary musical event would follow the same pattern. The two of us would discuss, and then I’d take the lead and go off and figure the thing out. And while it’s true I’d never written a play before, I had written plenty of scripts for documentaries and podcasts, so out of the two of us, I arrogantly assumed I was going to take the lead.

It was during one of our first writing sessions that my assumptions were proven totally wrong. We were away for a weekend and on the first night we spent time roughly sketching out the show. We weren’t going to be able to continue the next day because Suz had an online meeting she needed to attend. I told her no problem, I’d carry on without her.

When I told her that, she looked hurt. She replied, “Weren’t we supposed to be writing this together?”

I was taken aback. What did she mean I couldn’t just charge ahead and do it myself? How else were we going to get this done? But, of course, she was right. This was our project to do together. Just like raising kids, it needed to be a true collaboration in order to work. At that moment, I realized that I couldn’t just do the thing I always do and assume that I would be able to simply take control.

And so we started to find ways to truly collaborate. As we pitched ideas back and forth, there was often laughter and ease, and sometimes our sensibilities would bump up against each other and tension would ensue. There were times when Suz would want to stop and workshop a scene until we felt thoroughly done, and in those moments there were parts of me that would flare up with a desire to charge ahead. I’d say, “Let’s figure it out later!” even if I wasn’t exactly sure when “later” was going to be.

The benefit of doing this with someone I’ve chosen to share my life with is that we were able to use the same tools that we use in our relationship to resolve our creative conflicts. When conflicts came up in our writing process, as opposed to brushing them off we took the time to debrief them with care and intention — and not surprisingly, the conflict had nothing to do with the writing, and everything to do with long-standing dynamics that we both carry. It’s a process that has not only made us better writing partners, but better partners as a whole. These conflicts and resolutions have opened up another avenue for dialogue between us, and we’ve been able to unearth some pretty powerful behaviors that we both carry and recognize for their weaknesses as well as their beauty.

Coming face to face with my old patterns, not listening, assuming that I could always just barrel ahead, has made me better in other parts of my life too. I see these patterns clearly now. I recognize my strengths and my limitations. And because of what I am learning about myself from this Fiddler project, I’ve been able to sharpen my capacity to listen and to honour other people’s unique gifts.

I look at the script now and am proud to say that it truly reflects both of our sensibilities. It’s playful, it’s honest and it’s uniquely us. There is a wisdom and ease in the writing that has been achieved through living decades of a life together.

There was a moment a couple of weeks ago while Suz and I were lying in bed, talking through ideas for the show. I was tired and wanted to go to sleep, but she was in the flow state and wanted to keep going. At one point she got so excited she literally bolted up out of bed and started pitching me ideas right then and there from the foot of the bed, wildly demonstrating her points through exaggerated arm gestures. I was so attracted to her in that moment, in a way that went beyond anything physical. It was the sight of her lit up. Passionate. Alive with something we are making, together.

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