As an actor, you are called upon to make the private public. You’re asked to say lines that express the deepest of feelings and, hopefully, imbue them with a veneer of reality. You’d think it would be easy for someone who does that for a living to express publicly how they feel about someone, but the words that come always feel inadequate. Because you handle words with such facility, manipulate emotions so freely, the reality of love becomes complicated. How do you even know when you’re acting?
During the period after my divorce, I only dated people who didn’t ask for much, as I didn’t have much to give. If they wanted the relationship to progress in some way, after a while it sputtered and died. There were a couple of women who saw the worst of me then, as I’d suddenly pull my car over, get out, and scream at my lawyer for fifteen minutes. I was incapable of trusting anyone and therefore also incapable of making any plans. (And who would want to make plans with me during that period?) I was getting older and resigned myself to a life of “compartmentalized intimacy.” I fantasized that I would go about my work, spend whatever time with Ireland I could get, and have a very compartmentalized love life. I joked with my friends about going on an annual “sex cruise,” where I would find someone with a similar desire to indulge herself like a camel consumes water. One long drink that carries you through, for a very long time, till the next opportunity. An honest, basic transaction. The only things missing were risk and any sense of the restless passion that I’d normally equate with love.
One day, at the lowest point of my custody battle, I lay on the floor of my house in a ball, sobbing. The loss and loneliness were simply crushing me. Everything I had done came to nothing. I never gained any ground. I was more like an uncle in the life of my daughter than a father. I swore to Almighty God that if, one day, I had another chance to meet someone and have a family, to make a home that had what was good about my childhood home while fixing what was wrong, I would give anything in return.
I met Hilaria a couple of months after I’d sworn to my closest friends that I was done looking, finished with hoping. And that time, I actually meant it more than the scores of other times I had sworn that. But when I met Hilaria, I knew there was something unique about her. Hilaria is one of those rarest of people. When you meet her, you know who she is. You don’t suspect; you know. Like her remarkable beauty, her intelligence, honesty, and decency are plain. And rather than just inventory my feelings for her, which are many and deep, let me tell you about her and why I am so lucky.
Beyond her spirit and her system of beliefs regarding health, fitness, and nutrition, Hilaria is the most emotionally mature person I’ve ever met. “Somos un buen equipo,” she had engraved inside of our wedding rings, which means, “We are a good team.” You’d be lucky to be on a team with someone like this. Grounded, tough, and always prepared to argue her position thoughtfully and effectively (that’s a good thing, right?), Hilaria is, most importantly, willing to press every ounce of her being into the service of her friends, family, and those she loves. You couldn’t have a better friend. Professionally, you couldn’t have a better coach or instructor if your goal is healthier living. Since she had to conquer her own period of unhealthy living, her advice, gained through experience, is simple and practical. When we met, I was bloated, unfit, and careening toward a diagnosis of diabetes. I believe that Hilaria saw me for what I once was and, with her help and example, could be again. To live with someone that fit and healthy, in both mind and body, can be frustrating. At my age, I wondered how much change, how much progress, I could honestly be expected to make. But Hilaria, more patient and kind than any ten people I’ve ever met, leads by example only. This woman has never uttered an unkind or derogatory word toward me, ever. Not once. (Can you imagine being able to hold your tongue in that way?) She suggests. She recommends. She offers materials to read about nutrition and exercise. And then, the rest is up to you. I have not hit some of my goals these past few years, but I can only imagine where I’d be today if I had not met her. In terms of marrying a real partner in this life, I am the luckiest man on earth.
When I met Hilaria, I was nearly fifty-three and she was twenty-seven, a quarter of a century difference in age (as some on the Internet are eager to remind me every day). Hilaria was raised between Boston and Spain, and aside from our difference in age and upbringing (I’ve always found it interesting to meet, let alone fall in love with, someone who doesn’t know Ed Sullivan, subway tokens, or Howard Johnson’s restaurants), Hilaria has had to make some serious adjustments in order to make our life together. The glare of the kind of attention we deal with can be unnerving. Of course, she deals with it better than I do. After we married, we proceeded to have three children in slightly over three years. That plan has offered its own form of renewal. (As I’m rounding the corner toward sixty with three children aged three and under, some days a cruise, any kind of cruise, but especially a sleep cruise, doesn’t sound so bad.) But my home is everything I expected and wanted it to be. Hilaria and I do talk about some things other than our children. We also disagree about some things. Thankfully, those are minor. But this is what we both wanted. I wanted Hilaria. I wanted the life we have together. I could never have met anyone, in five hundred lifetimes, who is a better mother. My children are the luckiest children on Earth.
My other child is twenty-one now. It must be odd for Ireland to look at the other children, in diapers or toddling around our home, either in person or on FaceTime, and say to herself that these are her siblings. But Carmen is so aware of Ireland, often pointing to an airplane in the sky and asking, “Is that Ireland coming?” Ireland, in spite of it all, is loving and funny. God, Ireland is funny. If she wants an acting career, she has more of the necessary elements, perhaps, than anyone in my family. Yes, she is clever and beautiful. She’s eclectic and funny. But most important of all, she is in no hurry for you to know her. Which compels you to come to her. In acting, that may be the most important quality of all.
It’s easy for two people to lose each other while fulfilling their obligations to their children. (We now have three: Carmen, Rafael, and Leonardo.) There were times I watched my own parents move around our house as if the other person weren’t there. I remember when it was just the two of us, when I had Hilaria, this remarkable woman, all to myself. As a mother, she has limitless room in her heart for her children, and even a little bit more to spare. I will take what I can get. I try to remember that my job is to care for her as she cares for our family, to support her in whatever way I can. To deliver whatever stability and certainty I can. When I think of my wife, I’m reminded of Hamlet:
Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.