Two women discussed marriage before a live audience of which I was a member. One a sociologist, the other a writer. But this wasn’t a talk on science or craft. They kind of stumbled onto the topic and fell into elation over a shared perspective.
The sociologist asked the newlywed writer how married life was treating her. It was almost as an aside. The way you ask someone how they’re doing out of polite reflex, as the extension of a greeting. You don’t really expect them to answer with much depth.
We’re talking about a writer, however. Someone to whom language is art and every thought is examined and there is no topic void of potential story. Plus, this was an interview of sorts. The writer did not offer a generic, “it’s great,” response.
She talked about not thinking of herself as someone who would derive such pleasure from marriage. Not from what she’d heard about the institution or the warped perception she’d developed through experiences in tainted love. Certainly not from the cautionary tales she’d witnessed. Yet, she enjoys it more than she’s ever enjoyed anything. Not the institution per se, but the devotion. The refuge.
The writer gushed over what it means to her to know that no matter how many cities she visits and how long she’s out on the road, there’s this person who’ll be there when she returns home. This person for whom she holds deep adoration and who adores her the same. This person with whom she has immeasurable fun. This person with whom she feels safe.
She goes on to describe her wife as her best friend and admit that the idea of marriage being difficult has grown confusing to her. In more than two years, she’s not once felt this way. Now, she leans toward that perspective as an indicator that you may be with the wrong person.
“I’m so glad you said that!” The sociologist chimes in with an obvious level of excitement. “All I hear is, marriage is hard work.” She says that last part with the scruffiness of a curmudgeon.
The sociologist shares the writer’s sentiment. Being married to her husband has been one of the most blissful, gratifying parts of her life. “I think when you actually like the person you’re married to it makes a huge difference.”
Both explain that there may be challenges, but when you describe marriage as “challenging” — when you define it that way, that’s something else. Something is going on that probably shouldn’t be.
They hold this sentiment because they describe marriage as joyful. Easy, even. Easy because it’s joyful.
It helps that they and their partners demonstrate mutual respect. They value and support one another. They listen to and openly communicate with each other. I suppose it’s within the spaces where these attributes should exist but don’t where difficulties arise.
Hearing the writer and the sociologist say these things was refreshing. Refreshing because like them, it contradicted everything I’d been told about marriage and have even seen, but it affirmed my belief. It reinforced the conviction I carry even in the absence of evidence.
Then, for a second my mind exited the conversation as I thought back to something my cousin said a week prior. We were attending a wedding reception with people sharing remarks and congratulatory messages. There was a recurring theme of “good days and bad days.” Soon, someone took the stage and flat-out said, “you’re going to fight.” He encouraged the couple to work through these fights and not give up on their union.
Quiet through it all up until that point, my cousin leaned over to me and said, “I don’t agree with that. Mark and I never fight. I guess we’re different. Or maybe there’s something wrong?” She shrugged.
I told my cousin that what she said made sense to me. Disagreements without fighting seem sadly considered the exception and not the rule. But this measuring of love by how much suffering one can handle doesn’t have to be an approach we accept or adopt.
It made sense because I’d like my person to be someone with whom I can communicate through unbridled openness and know that their objective is to listen and understand. I’d like to know that they care more about my feelings than defending the way my feelings might make them feel. I’d like our passion to be most untamed when it is most beautiful, and not the fuel that drives emotional warfare.
I’d like to be out on the road and look forward to a love-filled home awaiting my return. A love that is the shelter, not the storm. A home that rests on a solid foundation, not one in need of constant repair because it often crumbles.
It made sense because I believe such a marriage, such a love is possible. And that the sociologist, writer, and my cousin were sent to reaffirm an idea that over time and in the face of skepticism can start to feel utopian.
Marriage is easy. Or at least, it should be. It can be. How especially wonderful such a partnership would be when everything else in life feels hard.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Jimmy Dean on Unsplash
