I just got home from seeing the movie “Revolutionary Road”, and it occurred to me while I was driving home that I have always been an observer of marriages, much the same way I was tonight watching that movie. I’ve never thought of it that way before – observer – but I really have been. In my late 40s and never married, I have had years to be witness not just to my parent’s marriage, but to the marriages of my three siblings, most of my closest friends, cousins… almost everyone around me. Even as old as I am and as many data points as I’ve been able to collect, I’m not sure how I actually feel about the institution of marriage.
Marriage is something I always wanted. There wasn’t a day of my childhood that I ever doubted I would grow up, get married, have kids – the whole shebang. And then it just didn’t happen for me. Can’t tell you why… it’s been suggested many times (although thankfully, not much in the last few years) that I’m too picky, don’t try hard enough, too strong and intimidating… the list goes on. While all of these attempts at an explanation were done with good intentions, they always implied something was wrong with me, and that did not exactly help me maintain the perky, optimistic, smiling state of smart-but-not-too-smart, needy-but-not-too-needy, independent-but-not-too-independent persona I was supposed to exude if I ever wanted to catch that special someone. Perhaps there is something wrong with me… maybe even something terribly wrong, but when I see who’s married out there… well, I just can’t make heads or tails of it. Seems random to me. So starting tonight, I’ve decided what my new theory is for my unsavory condition: God intended for me to be an observer; to remain enough of an outsider that I can help all my married friends get through the times of turmoil and discord that are sure to descend at one time or another, and rejoice with them when things are good.
On my path to attempted marriage, I remember one particularly disturbing meeting with a woman who wanted to become a professional matchmaker. We made arrangements to meet so that she could get to know me a bit and see if I was date-able (kind of like prospective foster parents being checked out by social services), and I could see if she was someone I could trust with my heart and my wallet. We met at a neighborhood Starbucks, and I arrived first. Before long, in walked this little woman with long hair down to her waist, ballet flats and a mono-brow, looking all of 18 although I think she was in her mid-30s. After talking for awhile, she was compelled to recommend some relationship books to me and her opinion that she thought there was something wrong with me that I hadn’t been married before, or at least had some long-term relationships and/or consistent dating experiences. What I needed was a matchmaker who wasn’t there to judge me, but to be my advocate; what I got instead was this little smurf of a creature willing to add to the freak baggage I was already carrying. Needless to say, we parted ways without a contract.
Back to being an observer. As the years have gone on and as I’ve seen more and more marriages come and go, my feelings about the tradition have changed a great deal. Do I still want marriage for myself? Hmmm… I don’t know. I’ve observed that it’s hard. That the feeling of being cherished, a feeling that I personally have always yearned for (and wanted to feel for another person) is one of the first things to go in a marriage; replaced instead with the smugness of the condition of marriage. I’ve observed that couples will often cave to the comfort of familiarity and routine, rather than expend the necessary energy for a little excitement or the spice of spontaneity.
I realize it’s easy for me—strictly the observer and not a participant—to pick on what seems wrong about marriage, or the mistakes couples make in it. I’m sure there’s a balance of good about marriage that, unless I’m in it myself, I will never appreciate. It’s kind of sweet to think that all of the good stuff that comes with marriage is SO good that it’s one of those dirty little secrets couples keep to themselves.
It’s quite possible that the passage of time has literally made marriage a moot point now; I don’t need it to procreate (too old), and most of the people I’m likely to meet in my age group have been married before and don’t want to take that path again. Maybe this was all destined, and I would have had too weak a stomach for marriage—or been too hurt by it—to have benefited from the experience. In any case, I will continue to observe both the bad and good, continue to wonder what it’s like with just a little wistfulness, and continue to marvel at the concept of two people coming together ‘til death do they part.
If I ever leave the ranks of observer to become an actual participant, may I put all these many years of observing to good use.
Marriage is something I always wanted. There wasn’t a day of my childhood that I ever doubted I would grow up, get married, have kids – the whole shebang. And then it just didn’t happen for me. Can’t tell you why… it’s been suggested many times (although thankfully, not much in the last few years) that I’m too picky, don’t try hard enough, too strong and intimidating… the list goes on. While all of these attempts at an explanation were done with good intentions, they always implied something was wrong with me, and that did not exactly help me maintain the perky, optimistic, smiling state of smart-but-not-too-smart, needy-but-not-too-needy, independent-but-not-too-independent persona I was supposed to exude if I ever wanted to catch that special someone. Perhaps there is something wrong with me… maybe even something terribly wrong, but when I see who’s married out there… well, I just can’t make heads or tails of it. Seems random to me. So starting tonight, I’ve decided what my new theory is for my unsavory condition: God intended for me to be an observer; to remain enough of an outsider that I can help all my married friends get through the times of turmoil and discord that are sure to descend at one time or another, and rejoice with them when things are good.
On my path to attempted marriage, I remember one particularly disturbing meeting with a woman who wanted to become a professional matchmaker. We made arrangements to meet so that she could get to know me a bit and see if I was date-able (kind of like prospective foster parents being checked out by social services), and I could see if she was someone I could trust with my heart and my wallet. We met at a neighborhood Starbucks, and I arrived first. Before long, in walked this little woman with long hair down to her waist, ballet flats and a mono-brow, looking all of 18 although I think she was in her mid-30s. After talking for awhile, she was compelled to recommend some relationship books to me and her opinion that she thought there was something wrong with me that I hadn’t been married before, or at least had some long-term relationships and/or consistent dating experiences. What I needed was a matchmaker who wasn’t there to judge me, but to be my advocate; what I got instead was this little smurf of a creature willing to add to the freak baggage I was already carrying. Needless to say, we parted ways without a contract.
Back to being an observer. As the years have gone on and as I’ve seen more and more marriages come and go, my feelings about the tradition have changed a great deal. Do I still want marriage for myself? Hmmm… I don’t know. I’ve observed that it’s hard. That the feeling of being cherished, a feeling that I personally have always yearned for (and wanted to feel for another person) is one of the first things to go in a marriage; replaced instead with the smugness of the condition of marriage. I’ve observed that couples will often cave to the comfort of familiarity and routine, rather than expend the necessary energy for a little excitement or the spice of spontaneity.
I realize it’s easy for me—strictly the observer and not a participant—to pick on what seems wrong about marriage, or the mistakes couples make in it. I’m sure there’s a balance of good about marriage that, unless I’m in it myself, I will never appreciate. It’s kind of sweet to think that all of the good stuff that comes with marriage is SO good that it’s one of those dirty little secrets couples keep to themselves.
It’s quite possible that the passage of time has literally made marriage a moot point now; I don’t need it to procreate (too old), and most of the people I’m likely to meet in my age group have been married before and don’t want to take that path again. Maybe this was all destined, and I would have had too weak a stomach for marriage—or been too hurt by it—to have benefited from the experience. In any case, I will continue to observe both the bad and good, continue to wonder what it’s like with just a little wistfulness, and continue to marvel at the concept of two people coming together ‘til death do they part.
If I ever leave the ranks of observer to become an actual participant, may I put all these many years of observing to good use.
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