Marriage is a Verb, not a Noun
I attended a friend’s wedding this weekend. It was her and new husband’s second marriage, and both have children. It was beautiful in its simplicity and authenticity: tacos, boxed wine, early Michael Jackson tunes, unconventional dual-officiants (tattoos and all). The program tricked attendees into believing that interpretive dance and musical spoon instrumentals were to be expected, as well as a “releasing of the turtles.” It was unpretentious and real. The life they both lived before meeting each other was on display through the myriad of friends and family that celebrated with them. And those friends (as well as their own children) bore witness to the fact that each of them had loved and lost before, but now it was time to love again.
How different than the weddings of many young couples. Quite often theirs are more focused on perceptions — especially on meeting the expectations of family, society, and peer groups. Churches, flowers, dresses, tuxes — the list goes on and on. Life ahead is to be an endless succession of conquests and joys — or so it seems. What would I have said to myself as the 25 year old groom if I could? “All these trappings of status and money seem important to you now. They won’t later in life,” or “Don’t think this is going to be an easy ride. Better buckle up, buddy.”
When marriages do fall apart, spouses like to say to each other, “You’ve changed. You’re not the person I married.” Well, not to put too fine a point on it: No shit, Sherlock.
It’s made me think about whether I’ll ever get married again. I won’t pretend to know the answer nor am I stupid enough to make that prediction. “Never say never,” as people like to say. Life evolves and we are simply passengers on a train. Who knows where this train is taking me?
Here’s one thing I can say with some certainty: marriage is a verb, not a noun.
Marriage isn’t a static state that you enter on your wedding day and stay in until death or divorce. “Adulting” is hard? Well, so is “marriaging.” The person you are on your wedding day is not the person you are 5, 10, 25 years later. If you accept that premise then you must accept that the marriage you have over that time is a moving and evolving target. When marriages do fall apart, spouses like to say to each other, “You’ve changed. You’re not the person I married.” Well, not to put too fine a point on it: No shit, Sherlock. OF COURSE WE’VE CHANGED. What we should be asking ourselves is, why are we trying to remain the same people for our partners, and why do we want them to remain the same for us?
The questions here go beyond our concept of marriage. Our lives are moving targets, yet we desire to keep them solid and secure. Examples are everywhere: there’s our inability to talk about our marriage problems with our partners…our fear of losing money or status in the eyes of society…our denial of our own mortality. We walk around pretending that these fears don’t eat away at us, but they do. They seep into our lives — our marriages — and strip the varnish off our youthful veneers.
All this sounds very pessimistic, I suppose, but not to me. I find that acceptance of our own fallibility and life’s uncertainty can bring peace and happiness, too. I am also reminded of the wedding of my friends. Here are two people who have endured heartache and disappointment, yet they are willing to love again. Why shouldn’t they? Their lives are songs — harmonies and melodies that move across the musical scale never repeating the same note in exactly the same way. Our songs never stay the same. They never sound exactly the same way no matter how often we think we repeat them.
Let it be so with love, too.
