Committed

About a month ago I ordered, and received, a copy of Elizabeth Gilbert's Committed. I had read Eat, Pray, Love some time ago, and had greatly enjoyed it; moreover, I had also deeply identified with her story of the aftermath of a marriage. We hadn't had nearly the same ending to our respective relationships, but in the end the circumstances didn't matter -- what was important was that we both went through that experience, and came out the other side after experiencing some pretty awful days.

Which is also, of course, what made her reluctant to try again. And me, too. Partnership, commitment, and love are no problem.

Marriage ... that is.

And so I imagined by reading this book I might be able to, as she had, make my own peace with marriage.

If you've just happened upon this place, The Man and I are not married. I am two months from delivering a second child with this man with whom I share my life. We already share one child, and own a house together, and, for what it's worth, a car, although that's hardly a consideration when one considers marital possessions. (It's not a terribly valuable car!) We have seven years of history -- more, I might add, than I ever had with my ex, if only barely -- and a life that is completely and utterly intertwined thanks to two children. Even if we wished to come apart -- which we don't -- our lives would still be tied together through the two beings we parent together.

And so, despite the fact that Gilbert delves deeply into marriage and ultimately seems to make peace with it herself, I still am as ambivalent as ever about it. At this point, seven years down the road, I fail to see how a single piece of paper would actually make a difference in our lives. And keep in mind here that I *have* been married. There are many people who believe that marriage changes your relationship, and I believe that, but no more so, in my own experience, than, say, having a child together, or buying a house together, or expanding your family together. Yes, perhaps standing up in front of a bunch of people and declaring your love for each other might make a difference, but do you know what makes a difference for me? A pair of big brown eyes. The eyes of my son, who, should this relationship fall apart some day, will turn to me and ask "why aren't you and daddy still together?" And I will have to look into those eyes and tell him the truth.

And if the prospect of doing that with unflinching honesty doesn't keep me in this relationship, I don't know what will.

Oh, believe you me, that's not what's keeping me here. What's keeping me here is a man who holds me tight, and makes me laugh, and cooks delightfully delicious meals. A man who sends me interesting things from the internet he thinks I will like, a man who buys me beautiful jewelry, and who tells me that gaining weight to birth a healthy baby is worth it. A man who loves the child that I birthed more than life itself, a man with whom I want to share a life. I could go on. My point merely is that of all the faces of people I love, of all the people who matter to me, of all the people who depend on this relationship lasting, my son is the only one who really does matter. If we were to get married, he'd be the only one besides the man I'm saying them to who I'd need to hear the vows.

And so I don't think that it matters.

I sat and tried hard to think about why. Was it that I appreciated being maybe less committed? No. That was silly -- I mean, look at our lives. We ARE committed. Did it give me room to run? Did it give me an out?

No, and no again. I have no easy out, not with a child (or two). There will never be an easy out, room to run, less commitment.

Maybe in the end, for me at least, it was that marriage came with expectations. Expectations in its perfection, in its longevity. (My parents, I should note, are still married after almost 45 years. Both my sets of grandparents remained married to each other until death did them part. Is it any wonder I just expected my own marriage to do the same?)

And I enjoy very much being in this relationship with my eyes wide open. Being in a relationship with small children is no easy task. Some days, let's be honest, it sucks. And I think that perhaps not being married, and (again, for me) not having those expectations that things "just last" ensures that I continue, each day, to try. I continue each day to choose to be here. And I like this.

Maybe some people do this with marriage. All I know is that I didn't, and that relationship didn't end well. And I have no desire to go back there.

So we have no plans to get married. Maybe some day we will. Maybe if it begins to matter to the two people who matter the most beyond the two of us -- the children -- we will consider it.

But I doubt it ever will. Because study after study shows that children fare best in a steady, stable home with lots of love.

And we have that, without any piece of paper.