I have to be honest here — the idea of marriage makes me short circuit. An indefinite commitment? Until death do us part? How is one expected to choose something so blatantly dependent upon the future? The future is where all the unknowns happen! Where all the “what ifs” hide! How am I supposed to control the outcome if the outcome is entirely outside of my control?!

 

If the best case scenario for a marriage means that one of its participants will die, then the worst case means that the entire thing will fall apart and both people, who once loved each other more than they loved life itself, will now hate each other’s guts and find immense pleasure in the Cold War of an alimony battle — all while their children do their best to adjust to their crumbling lives in between wordless Wednesday night custody hand offs.

 

I’ve never hoped so hard for death!

 

When my parents got divorced I made a vow: I will only get married when I’m absolutely certain it will last. But now I’m older. Wiser. I’ve got twenty-something years and five dozen OCD therapy sessions under my belt, and I’ve come to realize that we can really only be certain of one thing: We can’t really be certain of anything. 

 

Finding the right partner is not what gives me pause. I’ve found an amazing partner! It’s me I’m most worried about. I once identified with a quote from James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room so greatly that I made it my phone background: “People are too various to be treated so lightly. I am too various to be trusted.” 

 

I am embarrassingly various. A stack of walking contradictions. My daily inner world contains thoughts, feelings, urges, and desires that often pull me in several different directions at once. Throughout my twenties alone, I declared that I would become an architect, a school teacher, a graphic designer, and a chef. I’ve made plans to move to San Francisco, Spain, Panama, and Atlanta. And yet I’ve only ever lived in New York City and Los Angeles. I’ve only ever worked in marketing. How, then, am I supposed to commit to something as solid, as permanent, as unwavering as marriage?

 

I lamented to my friend Martin one night over red wine and oxtail ragu. About this impossible ask of love. He thought for a moment and then looked at me plainly, with an assuredness that indicated he’d spent a long time—likely years—contemplating this topic before.

 

“I think love is more of a byproduct,” he said.

 

I didn’t understand. “A byproduct of what?”

 

He looked at me through his wireframe glasses like it was obvious — like the answer was sitting right there between us on the table. “Choosing!”

 

Love is a byproduct of choosing.

 

When I think back on the choices I’ve made, sure, plenty have led to love. This morning I chose to eat a breakfast burrito, for example, and I really loved that. But when it comes to major life decisions — like location, career, or self-image, for example — I’ve really never chosen anything indefinitely, with the gusto of wholehearted commitment. I’ve always gone in with an I don’t know if this is what I really want mindset — and eventually moved to a different city, started another job, gave into another distraction.

 

And if I’m being completely honest, it’s in this crevasse of half-hearted choosing where most of my suffering has festered. It’s a kind of purgatory — not fully choosing something in favor of not fully choosing something else. It’s getting out of bed every morning to the tune of I guess so, while longing more than anything for a life of Let’s do this! I wonder what would happen if I did choose something wholeheartedly. I wonder if a new kind of choosing would result in a new kind of outcome — or perhaps even, a new kind of love.

 

I hope that one day I will wholeheartedly choose marriage. That I’ll look to the future and all of its uncertainties and say, “Let’s do this!” I hope that that choice may act as a sort of wholehearted foundation upon which a wholehearted home will be built. And then a wholehearted family. A wholehearted community. A wholehearted livelihood. A wholehearted life. I hope that one day Connor and I will look back on our lives and feel grateful that we’ve gotten to experience the kind of love that could only be the byproduct of our choosing each other indefinitely. For better or for worse. In sickness and in health. And maybe, if we’re so lucky, until death do us part.

 

____

 

 

A few things I’m thankful for:

- Tess :)

- Art! I love art! It’s so cool and fun and creative!

- Sweet potato fries

 

 

Pop culture things I’m thinking about:

I’m almost done reading Richard Rohr’s Just This and I’ve consumed every word like it’s a Thanksgiving dinner. Gobbled it up! I feel like if everyone read a little Richard Rohr the world would be a different place.

 

 

A random journal entry:

7.31.16

There’s a beauty in change, but there’s a different beauty in consistency

 

 

A random thought:

I noticed this week how whenever someone says something positive towards me or about me, I always immediately counterbalance their positivity. It’s like an intolerance for the vulnerability that positivity brings. Boundless joy and goodness? What am I supposed to do with that?

 

When my boss says, “Thank you for holding down the fort this week!” I say, “Trying!”

When my friends say, “I’m so excited for your next chapter!” I say, “I’m terrified!”

 

But alas, what is there to do besides be who I am? At least I’m terrifiedly trying.

 

____

 

 

Thanks for reading :) Talk again soon.