A KISS GOODBYE
The way I did it.
I kissed my husband goodbye every morning for a week.
When planning my experiment, my romantic imagination pictured each kiss in slow motion. He would pause in the doorway, the morning light spilling around him … my fingers curling into the soft fabric of his jacket, his breath brushing my cheek—warm, familiar, and somehow new—and when our lips met, it was slow and deliberate, a kiss that lingered like a secret meant only for the two of us.
Not the quick, practical kiss that lands somewhere between his cheek and the air beside it. Not the half-mumbled, “Have a good day,” kiss delivered while one of us is already halfway out the door.
That type of kiss has been our routine for years.
For this experiment, I’m talking about the kind of kiss that feels intentional. The kind that suggests that there is a story still unfolding between two people who already know the endings of each other’s sentences. I wanted to see if something so simple as taking one minute to purposely pause and intentionally kiss my husband goodbye would have an impact on my day.
And maybe on his day, too.
For one week—one work week, Monday through Friday—mornings when I’m generally rushing out the door, I would stop to give my husband a kiss goodbye.
In the Hallmark movies, the kiss is often the final scene where the sunlight falls artistically across the kitchen floor and the tea kettle whistles softly in the background. The husband quietly enters the kitchen and kisses his wife lightly on the neck. She realizes—suddenly and profoundly—her love for her husband as they embrace in a passionate kiss. Roll the credits.
My reality, however, was that most mornings I caught him on the phone as I was leaving. I maneuvered in front of him and leaned awkwardly in, lips puckered, while attempting not to spill my large pink Yeti mug full of coffee or drop my lunch while keeping the bag on my shoulder from sliding onto his lap. Each morning, for a brief moment, I waited for something to happen.
Nothing did. He received the kiss, returned it, and went on with his day.
But on Friday, I forgot.
I was distracted by the long list running through my head—there was a meeting at work, emails I needed to send, and phone calls I needed to make. I realized I had forgotten the kiss as I walked into my office. The moment was lost.
As I reflect on my experiment, and the way it progressed through the week, kissing him goodbye became less about creating a moment and more about marking one. This is where the early morning ends. This is where the day begins. This is us, still standing in the same doorway after all these years, still choosing each other before stepping into whatever waits beyond it.
The way I did it. A kiss goodbye.
This is part of what I’m calling Expeditionvision—trying things on purpose and paying attention to what happens. I’m not offering advice or giving instructions. I’m just sharing the way I did it. If there’s something that you’ve been wanting to do or try—but haven’t—I’d love to hear about it. I’m open to reader suggestions for future experiments.
Field Notes:
Paid subscribers, I’ve added a short field notes section below with what surprised me the most, and what I would or wouldn’t do the next time.