Marriage to an explorer is double-edged
Living with an adventurer can be lonely and frightening, but Ben and I share the same outlook
Ioften get asked how much longer I’m going to put up with my husband’s behaviour. I’m not married to someone violent, unfaithful or mean; quite the opposite. My husband’s kindness and empathy is witnessed by the millions who watch his TV shows. His downfall is his occupation. The person I chose to marry happens to be an adventurer – often absent, mostly uncontactable and frequently exposed to perilous situations.
Ben’s absences are something I’m used to and actually I believe that this nomadic lifestyle enriches our relationship.
But the news that Benedict Allen has gone missing while hunting for a lost tribe in Papua New Guinea sends a shiver down my spine. Not just out of worry for an extraordinary and inspirational friend, but knowing that it’s not inconceivable that one day I might be experiencing the nightmare that has enveloped his wife, Lenka.
My husband has tested my nerves over the years with his various expeditions, and sometimes – particularly when things go wrong – his career choice feels like a selfish one.
This year he will have been abroad for close to eight months in total. For most of the year I live much like a single mother, rising an hour before the children wake up in the morning so that I can get everything sorted.
Ben has never made a parents’ evening, and the children know it will only be me watching their school play. When I need a man to do something, like jump-start the car, my father-in-law lives up the road and will pop over. As I write, Ben is planning another adventure, possibly more perilous than anything he’s done before.
I have always been drawn to adventure. When I met Ben he was preparing for the Marathon des Sables, six marathons in seven days in the Sahara Desert. When he returned I was intoxicated by his tales and when he announced he was going to row across the Atlantic, I loved the idea. After we married, I helped him plan more outlandish adventures: scaling Rockall, a notoriously windswept and wavelashed rock in the middle of the North Atlantic seemed like a brilliant plan. The two of us spent endless evenings planning logistics. If truth be told, my husband seduced me with his derring do.
Twelve years and two children later, it’s different. Every time an idea for an expedition creeps into his mind, I’m no longer full of the unbridled enthusiasm that he once so loved. I’ve made it clear that as a father and husband, he’s accountable and each of these projects have to be carefully thought out and planned.
We decide as a couple what risks to take and come up with compromises, though some of the ideas are vetoed – I can be pretty fiery when I’m opposed to something.
When Ben announces his plan for his next challenge, later on this year, there will be many who will accuse him of being selfish as a husband and father.
Is this something I can charge him with? Is it ego that drives an explorer to take risks with flamboyant disregard for their family?
If all goes well, there’s no denying that Ben will return a hero, everyone will want to hear his story and he will love it. But though Ben’s need to explore might seem inexplicable to some, I understand it – and selfishly, the children and I get our own thrill from it. When Ben is back, his joy and excitement at his experiences are infectious. He may miss parents’ evening, but he’ll take an assembly, regaling 200 kids with his adventures as his children’s hearts burst with pride.
When he’s away, obviously the dark thoughts that he might not return lurk gloomily in my mind; fears that many face, whether their loved ones are cyclists or in the Armed Forces – and the reality that Benedict’s family are facing now. Living with an adventurer can be lonely and frightening. But luckily, my husband and I share the same views about risk – that life without it is nothing, and those of us fortunate enough to be alive, to find themselves on this magnificent planet of ours, have a duty to add life to our days rather than add days to our lives.