of dragons and drawbridges

When I was little, I figured that marriage represented the answer to many of Life’s Big Problems, and that was why so many people did it. My teacher was married. Our mailman was married. My best friend’s parents were married. Not that I dreamed much about actually getting married myself. I had glasses and braces and looked a lot like Curious George, so I just assumed potential suitors would not exactly be tracking me down on their Tuffy bicycles. I never fantasized about dresses. I never picked out music or daydreamed about cakes and colors and bridesmaids. I most definitely did not fit the “Cinderella” mold. At the time, come to think of it, my haircut was more reminiscent of Robin Hood.

I’m certainly quite a bit older now; and incidentally, I did find a handsome and wonderful prince (my braces were finally gone, so maybe that helped). Agreeing to marry him was the best decisions of my life. But the credit for this goes to the man, not the marriage. There is a world of difference. And I wanted to note this firsthand, because there seems to be this cultural presumption that little girls and boys will eventually grow up, get married, start a family, manicure a lawn. We’ve built an astonishing number of services, products, and institutions around this idea. Maybe that’s why I’ve encountered some incredibly accomplished, interesting, attractive single people who seem to give off this oddly indistinct aura of apology because they aren’t attached to The One.

Let me just say this for the record. There are many days when I don’t understand why my husband, the prince, has not simply jumped on his horse, the Honda Element, and fled the castle. There are other days where he’s retreated, with good reason, about as far away as he can get; and he would have gone farther if not for a load-bearing wall or immovable piece of royal furniture. The women in my family grapple with this Mediterranean shortness of temper that, on very rare occasions and in the privacy of our own homes, can sort of flare up and flame the immediate area. My great aunt actually lifted – while wearing a hoop skirt and heels – the back end of a 1952 Chevy Bel Air when her dander was, shall we say, up. Now this is not to say that when it comes to faults and frailties, my beloved does not have a couple doozies of his own. I am just way too smart to mention them here. :)

There’s something I’d like any discouraged singles out there to consider: I know the dating scene can be horrible. I have been there. If felt like a series of secret dance steps that neither partner ever mastered completely. My toes got stepped on frequently; and if I’m not mistaken, there were even a couple of malicious shin-kicks in there. But if dating is like a mystery dance, then marriage is a three-legged race. You are, quite literally, bound together for better or worse. A surprising, sometimes stunning range of weaknesses will rear their ugly heads, on both sides of the table. And there is absolutely no way to conceal them, unless you plan to lock yourself in the bathroom for life. You are forced to either war night and day, or work it out between yourselves. In the process, you labor harder and grow closer than you ever thought possible … and you learn some astoundingly tough and transforming lessons along the way.

I would not trade my spouse for all the riches in the world. He is a cute, kindhearted, ever-so-slightly quirky and ideal complement for a person like me. I know this because we’d both already taken copious amounts of time getting comfortable with our own selves, before even considering the idea of mutual matrimony. And once you’ve really, truly reached that point, the idea of marriage itself becomes a nice-to-have … not a need-to-have.