Last night, my husband posed a loaded question. We were discussing anniversary plans (still a little early) and were in shock that we were preparing for year #2 already. “Be honest,” he said. “Back when we were getting married…did you think it would be this easy?”
Now, I don’t think John and I are a very “deep” couple. We don’t usually have such introspective, serious discussions. Well, ok. . . sometimes we do. But usually we’re a turn-up-the-radio-cruise-around-and-pretend-life’s-fine kind of couple. Regardless, at the time he asked this I had no answer. So I decided it would be a good blog topic.
First of all, the word “easy” bothers me. Not just in this context, but as a word. It’s like the word “nice.” Both of them should be exiled from the English language as they’ve become too watered down and fallen into utter uselessness. Both have become too subjective to work in their original form any more. Without tonal inflection, no one knows if your statement of “that’s nice” is positive, negative or neutral. At the very least, we only know you’re trying to be tactful.
So what about “easy?” Am I supposed to deduce if my marriage has been “easy” as in simple? Maybe relaxed – “easy like Sunday morning?” Or “easy” like a loose, immoral woman? Or “easy” like someone calming a spooked horse?
Ya, I know. English majors and our fetish with semantics.
The cliché answer is that marriage is all of the above, all the definitions of “easy” you can invent could apply at some point. But I am not Dr. Phil and I hate when people give simple, expected answers that they think sound profound. So I’ll just pick the one that’s the most fun.
I have found marriage to be exactly like caring for a spooked horse. Not that I have any experience therein but I’ll just channel my other livestock experiences along with some stereotypes. It should work. And the answer is “no,” by the way. I did not see most of this coming…
• You spend months going the long way around to avoid certain pitfalls. Eventually, you need to slowly approach those pitfalls. Unfortunately, this takes even longer than avoiding them did.
• You say the same comforting words every time and both parties recognize that it’s always the same reaction. Somehow it works anyway because what you seek isn’t an original comfort but just old familiarity.
• You know that you could take different routes, find different loopholes, redefine your purpose and the work would be less. But you don’t. You knew what you were getting into before you took the horse home.
• You have fun. No work gives you quite the same fulfillment or makes you feel quite so alive.
• It’s worth anything to you. It drains your bank account in ways that would otherwise not be an issue. You have far less free time, far less social time. It doesn’t really matter. In fact, you legitimately start to prefer your schedule to be this new way.
• It matures you. You have no choice but to go from carefree and young to patient and responsible.
• There are setbacks. After months of impressive headway, something causes a new spook and you have to walk on eggshells once again and back off.
• You start to anticipate instead of react. Bribe instead of demand.
• Everyone else is slightly confused about your motive. Many are impressed. Most are supportive. Some are envious. But what you’re doing is a bit old fashioned and comes with high stakes and real dangers. No one’s quite sure what you expect to get out of it.
• You get nothing out of it. That’s not the point. Companionship, care, and love are overused clichés that could describe any friendship. You do it because he belongs to you. In a time when such ideals are unpopular and glaring un-P.C., the truth is you believe in ownership and belonging, submission and cooperation. It doesn’t matter that you have free will and that there are simpler — often better — options. That one’s yours. Period. There isn’t really a choice when all the other options are the wrong ones.