4 Years

I am still not a fan of marriage. This surprises me.

People are drawn toward liking that which they know. Mental illness aside, we humans love to love what we live.

And so I would have guessed that I would be a fan of marriage by the time I had been married for more than a year or two.

Yet here I am.

This month I was once again exposed to a direct dose of “love is a choice” rhetoric in situations in which “love” meant “married love.” It saddened me deeply. If love is just a choice, then prudence should dictate that one choose not to love.

After all, marriage is… how do I say this… marriage is not exactly ideal. It does not matter whether I think about marriage from a sacred or secular standpoint, marriage is meh. Sure, there are many lofty ideas about marriage, but those don’t really appeal to me. And in reality? Whom do you think you kid with your talk of marriage as a wonderful castle of love built on the foundation of choice?

Yet here I am.

Four years later, I am once again happier than I imagined on my wedding day. I do not love more deeply, but I am so much happier.

Of course things have been difficult. But I expected as much.

True, it was only this past May that I finally realized that it may indeed always be this difficult (what can I say, I’m slow) but at least I never expected marriage (read: life) to be blissful. And on good days, waves of despair just remind me of the ocean. And who doesn’t love the ocean on a gray day?

Perhaps it is just that when we started us it was the music of a well-established couple trying to find themselves again that most resonated. Do perhaps our relationship was all wrong, and that is why it is right for me today. Who could know?

And so a week ago I answered easily, even as I surprised myself with my answer to a childhood friend’s question of how I liked marriage. I told her that I do not yet appreciate marriage, but I really love living life with Josh.

I am sure things will change some day. I am so very certain. This makes it funny to think about the fact that 4 years seems so very much like 3 which seemed much like 2 which seemed much like 1.

I suppose that eventually I just won’t remember details such as years.

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