We’re on our way to San Diego for a wedding. As seems always to be the case with me, the process of “getting there” has been event filled—beginning with the instruction to remove our shoes even though the sign we’d just passed said we didn’t have to do so and culminating in a delayed flight, a missed connection, the prospect of 12 hours in O’Hare waiting for the next available flight, and finally (mercifully) a mad dash to get one of the last seats on a flight boarding “Right Now!“—to quote the gate agent who found it for us—for LA and then going on to San Diego . That guy is getting a jewel in his heavenly crown if I have to buy the diamond myself.
This has been a year of weddings; the Windsor decision has opened the floodgates. It almost makes me feel like I’m back in my 20s when all my friends were tying the knot.
Mark and I were married in February—the right bookend, if you will—and in the intervening months, at least six more couples that are our friends have gotten married. This month, Kevin and Jeff—our witnesses and hosts six months ago—are marrying during the month of their 30th anniversary.
We’re over middle America right now, and, having just finished my book, I’ve got some time to think about marriage. (And to share my wisdom with you all, of course.)
When back in January I told our friend, Gil, that Mark and I were going to be married, he effused more happiness for us than anyone. Gil is something of a bulldozer. For a straight man, he’s got an unusual sensibility about antiques and art, but he’s equally interested in guns and the military and history. I think of him pretty squarely as a man’s man, but perhaps with slightly rounded edges, so the ardor of his wish for our happiness was a bit of a surprise. In our subsequent conversations, Gil often made a point that I pushed back on pretty heavily, but I seen now that he and I were talking past each other more than disagreeing.
Gil told me that marrying Lauree was a profound upturn for him. The institution of marriage, he insisted, had changed everything in his life for the better, and he wished the same for Mark and me. I was and am grateful for his perspective and for his kindness, but at the time, I wanted exactly the opposite. I still do.
One of the most important things that I wanted from Mark’s and my marriage was that nothing change. I have often seen or heard about couples who spend years together only to have their relationship unravel after they “sign the book.” I’m not sure if the marriage license inspired in them a feeling of possesiveness—”the state” or “the church” says you belong to me now—or if it’s that one or both members of the couple—suddenly aware of weight of their bond—felt no longer joined but tied and could think only of getting loose. Is it that before the relationship became contractual, there was always an escape hatch in easy reach?
For the first few months after Mark and I married, I did feel a little possessive of him, and the temptation to let our relationship take on a different character was strong. I would say to myself, “we’re married now”; I’d have to remind myself that in our own minds, our relationship has been a marriage for nearly two decades.
On our way to what I think is this year’s last marriage among our friends—the left book end—I realize that Gil’s well-intentioned wish for me was a good one; it just came 20 years too late. “Marriage” changed our lives for the better long before we got married. I wish the same for Kevin and Jeff—that they continue to do what they’ve done so well for 30 years.
We’re meeting the boys and some of their other out-of-town guests for dinner tonight—a meal that almost didn’t happen because of the flight snafus. I’ll dish about that tomorrow.