When Mike and I married, starting a family was not on our radar. We looked at examples of the people around us with small children and found households in chaos, where screaming was the most common form of communication between family members. This seemed to be the norm. Just the way it always is.

No thanks.

“Kids are amazing,” a mom would tell me, just after screeching at her toddler to shut the goddamn door.

We had a family over for dinner once. The couple cooed over their little girl who took markers to my walls. Then the dad said, “But once you have kids, you can forget about all THIS.” With that he motioned at our living room, at small wooden sculptures we’d brought back from the South Pacific, intermingled with candles I’d bought at yard sales.

The message was clear: if we had kids we could say goodbye to living in a pleasing environment, because it would be necessary to turn our living room into the private equivalent of a McDonald’s Play Land.

Again, no thanks.

We knew so many couples who professed to love their families, yet couldn’t seem to stand each other.

If they weren’t screaming, they were baby-talking, so much so that the adults began baby-talking to one another. A world where adults willfully baby-talk to one another is my personal version of hell.

And the parents who took the most pride in their children were the ones with downright demonic offspring. Did parenthood turn people insane?

While visiting Mike’s parents in Mexico, we were introduced to a couple close to us in age. Chris and Elizabeth had two young children, ages 4 and 2. But their household was like nothing we’d ever seen.

They spoke to their children as if they were little humans. Because it turns out that kids are really just little humans.

All family members treated all other family members with kindness and respect.

Elizabeth, it turned out, was more addicted to candles than I am. The kids played in the living room, lit candles everywhere.

“Oh my gosh, how do you keep the kids away from the candles?” I asked.

“Oh, um. We tell them not to touch the candles,” she explained.

Genius!

In the middle of their patio grew a giant cactus. Twenty concrete steps led from the patio down to the yard. The kids ran circles around the cactus.

“How do you keep them from getting hurt by the cactus? Or from falling down the stairs?” Other parents we knew had all stairs gated at all times. And running near a cactus would have been on par with playing in traffic.

“Well, honestly, they get hurt once and then pretty much figure it out for themselves.”

Mind blown!

Maybe the examples we’d seen didn’t represent the way it had to be.

Maybe the chaotic, screaming households wanted us to believe that was the norm because that was THEIR norm.

And if Chris and Elizabeth could do it, maybe we could too.

From then on we opened our eyes, not only to the manner in which Chris and Elizabeth parented, but to other households in which parents and children managed to maintain shocking levels of civility. Shocking because they bucked the stereotypes of frazzled mom, barely-there dad, and tantrum-throwing toddlers.

There were other ways of operating as a family, and that’s where we set our sights.

In time, we became a family of four. It wasn’t easy. There were multiple miscarriages, terrifying birth stories, and a child who refused to sleep through the night for the first three years of her life. (Thanks for that, Ivy).

We’ll never have it all figured out. Nor will Chris and Elizabeth, nor any of the other positive examples of parents who we look up to and admire.

There are times when we yell, when our living room does, in fact, resemble a McDonald’s Play Land. But those aren’t the norm. And no one will ever convince me that that’s the way it always is or has to be.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but that early example of what was accepted as normal (for some) versus the possibility of a vastly different course of action, would influence, and lead us to question, everything else we thought to be true.

“You can’t travel during the school year.” Sure you can.

“Children need routine.” Children are incredibly adaptable.

What might you have been told that isn’t exactly true? That you can’t run a marathon? Have to stay in a miserable job? Subject yourself to people you can’t stand because you’re supposed to be polite?

Just because someone feels that a certain way of thinking applies to his or her situation, doesn’t mean it applies to yours.

What works for my family won’t work in every household. We’re all different and unique. But I don’t believe there’s any such thing as “the way it always is.”

Misery loves company, but when misery calls, say you’re busy. Decline to fit that stereotype. Question the status quo. Take ownership of your relationships, your happiness, and how you live your life.

There are (at least) two versions of me.

The first wants to do good, be better, succeed, be the person I know I can be (Heroic Self).

The second wants to do nothing beyond binge serial killer documentaries, have questionable Chinese food delivered to my door, and adopt all the cats (Lesser Self).

Most of us have (at least) these two competing versions. Sometimes the first wins, sometimes the second. When the second starts to dominate, winning out more often than the first, that’s when I find it’s easy to spiral. Depression, the attitude of “screw it, I’m already down, I may as well get comfortable.”

Certain things pull me back up. The inner fire, the fear of disappointment, the dread of someday regretting a potential left unrealized.

The greatest inspiration, though, the reason I haven’t yet seen all the serial killer documentaries or adopted all the cats, is the person beside me.

Mike doesn’t motivate me because I’m afraid of disappointing him. He never judges and always encourages. He is fair and honest and selfless. Our marriage does not include manipulation or keeping score.

He motivates me by example.

There was a time when I thought of myself as driven. Looking back, I had no idea what the word meant.

His drive doesn’t confine itself to one area. He channels it in all aspects of life. He’s constantly striving to improve:

1. His mind (reading, writing, critical thinking).

2. His body (I thought training for our upcoming 13-mile race was sufficient, he added in pull-ups and 100 burpees a day).

3. His businesses (this one requires constant focus, because surely there’s a cap on the number of LLCs one can have).

4. His relationships (with me, with our daughters, with the people he values and respects).

When Mike experiences a win, he doesn’t rest or pat himself on the back. He doesn’t look for validation. He accepts his win and moves on to the next challenge.

Living with someone like Mike is rewarding, exhausting, and motivating.

All at once.

And anyone acquainted with us knows that we are far from all-work-and-no-play. When it’s time to enjoy, we go big. We play hard.

I still gravitate to serial killer documentaries. The fact that I can have food delivered to my door at any time is amazing. (To be honest, I don’t really want to adopt ALL the cats.)

But when you have a constant example beside you of someone who is more prone to being his Heroic Self than his Lesser Self, it’s hard not to follow suit.

That means often turning away from what would be far easier and more comfortable. But I’m lucky to have that example in my life, even when it means tackling what’s difficult.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.