Marrying a Stranger
We’ve been married for 12 years today. We celebrated last night with massages and dinner and good conversation. It felt right.
Of course, 12 years isn’t 20 years, but it’s also not two, so I feel like I’m allowed to reflect on marriage today — well, at least MY marriage, because every marriage is messy and hard and complex and sacrificial and unique in its nuances and quirks and rhythms.
And neither Chris nor I are super romantic, not in a negative way, just in the way-we-are-wired way, and in an attempt to explain how much I appreciate our marriage the other day, I somehow opened with telling him he isn’t that great. The thing is, he IS pretty great — he’s kind and generous, thoughtful and humble. But he’s also human — which means he can be impatient and short-tempered and inconsiderate. And so can his wife.
Marriage is partly hard because you know all these things about one another — all the insecurities, the vulnerabilities, the tender spots. You know where to aim when you’re angry, when your not-best-self thinks hurting someone else will make you feel better. You rub up against one another in all your raw places, and it’s impossible to be married and not sometimes feel pain.
So I’m not thankful for my marriage because I got lucky and married the most perfect man, and we never fight and it’s always amazing. I’m thankful because we have a relationship that always keeps trying, that is willing to consider the other side, that remembers to look for the best in our partner. Maybe not always immediately, maybe not even willingly, but we eventually get there. And maybe it’s not a sign of a healthy marriage, maybe it’s just a sign of our mutual stubbornness, but I’ll take it.
Truthfully, when I was younger I just didn’t buy into the idea that you could love one person for the rest of your life. But back then I also thought love was like a fairly tale, and that if you couldn’t guarantee happily-ever-after, what was the point? So I guess I just didn’t believe in fairy-tale forever love, which hasn’t changed. But real love is better — not as pretty, but stronger. Forged. Tested. Refined.
And the thing is, you aren’t married to the same person forever. The person you stand across the aisle from isn’t the same person who will sink into bed with you 5 or 10 or 12 years later, because joy and grief and heartache and children and careers and LIFE, it changes you. Both of you. And that is both one of the most beautiful and most difficult things about marriage, I think. Learning how to keep loving someone, even as they change. Even as you change. Deciding that you want to.
Today, I am grateful to be married to a man who allows me the grace to change, to evolve, to discover new things about myself. Who isn’t afraid of who I might become, or my where my big feelings and big ideas might take me. Grateful for a partnership that always fights to get there. May we always be willing to get there.
Happy anniversary, babe. Still the tallest man.