Day by day, the wedding grows closer, and I feel ready and even eager, not nervous. I don’t remember what I felt during the weeks before my first wedding; I can’t remember whether I felt anxious or fearful. I probably didn’t know what to think: what did I possibly know then? I had no idea what kind of life–what kind of challenges–faced me.
J and I have settled into our own compromises; we’ve figured out, more or less, how not to step on one another’s toes during these summer months when we’re both around the house. It’s a constant dance; you never quite capture the permanent poise you long for. Instead, you have to keep moving, perpetually on your toes, reacting and responding as your partner moves, correcting and compensating for missteps, both your own and your partner’s.
Being married is the most challenging practice I’ve ever done, more difficult than getting a PhD or sitting a long Zen retreat or climbing a mountain. It’s challenging because you agree to do it for the rest of your life whether you want to or not–whether you think your spouse deserves it or not–whether at the moment you even like your spouse or not. Being married isn’t about the happy times you share (as I’m sure I thought when I was looking forward to my first marriage). Being married is about sticking around and giving it another try when you no longer want to.
I had no idea how difficult marriage is the first time I got married: how could I have? All we hear when it comes to marriage are the extremes at either end of the spectrum: on the one side, the happily-ever-after of wedded bliss, and other the other, the tragedy and turmoil of failed unions. Given these two options, it’s natural to think those are the only two choices, that your marriage will be either happy or miserable. When you’re young, optimistic, and engaged, no one mentions the plain and simple truth: any marriage will be both happy and miserable, the tenuous balance of intimacy being poised between those two ever-present extremes.
Balance is not a static thing, and neither is intimacy. If you’ve ever watched a circus tightrope performance, you know tightrope walkers are always in motion, leaning slightly one way then the other. Only in a frozen snapshot does a tightrope walker ever stand still; instead, at every moment, a tightrope walker is tottering between extremes, calculating and recalibrating the precise position of every extremity–every living cell and corpuscle, it seems–with an attention that can only be called electric.
Marriage is like that, but in slow motion: it takes your entire lifetime, ’til death do you part, to cross from here to there on the thin thread called “I do.” At any given moment, you might lean heavily toward bliss; at the next moment, you might dip dangerously toward despair. Your vow is your lifeline, the central balanced point you return to time and again. But balance is never static. The second you settle on a comfortable balanced point you wish could last forever, you’ve already fallen, your body freezing into a fixed rigidity that stymies its natural flexibility.
It takes a master to walk a tightrope, and it takes a master to weather the woes and wobbles of being in relationship. This is a truth I didn’t know (and nobody told me) the first time I got married. This time around, I’m walking into marriage with eyes wide open.
Click here for more pictures of the giant bronze baby heads–the paired sculptures of Antonio López García’s Day and Night–outside the Fenway entrance of Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts.
Aug 4, 2010 at 3:26 pm
Ah ho. Good luck and thank you for your marriage practice.
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Aug 4, 2010 at 3:29 pm
Thank you, Mu Mun. I know you know the balancing act well. 🙂
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Aug 4, 2010 at 6:58 pm
Still workin’ on it, and will be for quite a while.
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Aug 4, 2010 at 7:04 pm
You and me both, Mu Mun. As my grandfather used to say, marriage is easy. Only the first 50 years are difficult. This is the non-Zen equivalent of “try, try, try nonstop for 10,000 years” or “fall down six times, get up seven.” 🙂
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Aug 4, 2010 at 4:28 pm
Lorianne… It’s been quite a while since I’ve visited your blog. I would agree… marriage IS the most difficult practice. It’s been 2 months since my divorce has been official and things are still very raw for me. I am just trying to practice with that rawness for now.
I’ve marked this post for later when I eventually find another I want to commit my life to. You have articulated the art of balancing within a committed relationship in such a skillful way. It resonated quite a bit. Thank you.
_/|\_ (palms together)
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Aug 4, 2010 at 4:44 pm
Oh, John. I’m so sorry to hear about your divorce. I remember that “raw” feeling you’re talking about…and yes, there’s not much you can do but “sit with” that rawness, and that’s an extremely difficult practice.
It’s funny, but many of the things we struggle with in meditation — painful postures, for instance, or a distracted mind — are easily “solved” (or at least avoided!) if you simply stop practicing. But the kind of raw suffering that you’re experiencing — the pain of a divorce or any similar kind of loss — is inescapable. You can’t make it go away by finding a more comfortable sitting position, or by standing up, or by doing anything else. It’s just there until it leaves, and that is the hardest reality of all.
Thank you for sharing this incredibly sad news. Believe me, I know how difficult it is.
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Aug 4, 2010 at 7:19 pm
I love the tightrope walker simile — that’s fabulous. Yes, a thousand times yes!
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Aug 4, 2010 at 8:28 pm
I haven’t been married, but I think I have an inkling of the idea here. 🙂 Thanks for sharing this – wise words.
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Aug 5, 2010 at 12:32 am
Indeed, it took me a long time too to discover that marriage is a matter of BOTH in so many ways and not a question of EITHER or OR. I love the tightrope trope. Thanks for taking the time to share this with us, especially considering how busy you must be with the approaching celebrations.
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Aug 5, 2010 at 1:23 pm
I’m glad the tightrope analogy resonated for you all. We talk so much about achieving “balance” in our lives, but it’s always described as being a lasting state: once you’re “balanced,” you want to stay that way. But if you’ve ever walked on a balance beam or something similar, you know how difficult it is to stay balanced while you’re standing still.
Several years ago, J and I went to the circus, and there was this amazing balancing act where a performer walked, reclined, and even rode a unicycle on a loose rope that swung back and forth during the entire performance. Ever since then, I’ve re-thought the way I imagine “balance.” It’s not about standing (or sitting!) stock-still in some perfect, idyllic state. It’s about keeping your center even while wobbling with the ebb and flow of real life.
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Aug 6, 2010 at 9:24 am
Quite true, Lorianne. I realized the same thing when I learned to ride a bike as a kid: I couldn\’t stay balanced =unless= I kept moving.
Because I only pass through every couple of years (computers are scarce in my part of the world), please allow me to congratulate you in advance on your pending marriage, and to wish you both very happy first and second wedding anniversaries, too!
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Aug 7, 2010 at 9:58 pm
Your recent musings on marriage are very well written, apply even to the best of marriages.
If we are fortunate in our lifelines, in three years we will celebrate 50 years of the dance. How? You have described it well. In ours there have not been constant challenges but there sure have been times when we have had to focus on who we really are, as individuals and a pair.
May you earn all the best that your marriage can bring. Jody
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Aug 8, 2010 at 11:13 pm
You said this so well.
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Aug 10, 2010 at 4:15 pm
I love this post so much. I’ve been married for 17 years and have had to learn that trouble or disagreement is an essential part, and as long as we have that lifeline it won’t be Trouble. Peace and love to you this week and onward
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Aug 11, 2010 at 7:10 pm
Thanks so much for this great post. I appreciate your clear-eyed assessment of relationships. It helps me know what I’m in for! 🙂
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