Marriage Changes Nothing (But It's Still Magical)

I've always been pretty skeptical of the idea of marriage. People treat it like some kind of magic wand that opens new doors, fixes relationship problems, and doubles your tax refund. It couldn't possibly live up to the hype. Perhaps it's fitting that I ended up marrying someone with the same skepticism.

Stevie and I tossed the idea around for over a year before we got engaged, and it was two more after that before we finally set up the big event. Neither of us was sure what we wanted from the whole ordeal, so we played it by ear and did whatever sounded fun and practical. Aside from getting the paperwork in order and reading up on the tax implications, we never really discussed what married life might be like. In the weeks leading up to our wedding last year, I was told (warned?) several times: "Marriage changes everything." 

But... Does it? In our case, the first year of marriage has been a smooth continuation of our relationship so far. We filed our taxes jointly, but otherwise life has gone on as usual. 

That's not to say nothing has changed.

We don't brood at each other anymore. Obstinance is a well-trodden path for us, and we're always eager to skip to the inevitable resolution. As soon as one of us gets annoyed, we both start apologizing, laughing at ourselves and hugging. (In Stevie's words: "Gross.")

She balked at posing for a cake cutting picture. I told her that wasn't allowed: "You dragged me into this!"

I suppose I can at least chalk some of this up to wedding planning. That created a few stress points that made us both swallow our pride. Obviously, nothing we couldn't handle. 

This is more of a "don't be ridiculous" look, which I also inspire regularly.

Anyway, we usually have too many complaints with the rest of the world to care about each other's flaws anymore. I never really understood the appeal of gossip, but having a bitch-fest with your spouse is a transcendent experience. It's fluid like inner monologue, but you get that extra dose of perspective. Sometimes I'll get animated about the most mundane issue (say, my phone: "This STUPID thing breaks EVERY time they release an update, and when it finally DOES work I have to ADJUST ALL THE SETTINGS AND EVERYTHING IS JUST SO..."), only to realize I've been rambling for minutes and am now receiving a very distinctive "You're adorable" look. 

It's a potent neutralizer, that look. It reminds me not to take myself too seriously. I keep a mental image of it for those times we're apart when I really need it. Especially since I've been working full-time in a fairly demanding creative role, nothing gets me through the day (aside from exorbitant amounts of coffee, which Stevie also provides) like a few extra shots of perspective.

This brings me to another change that has been surprisingly profound for me: the ring.

Only $200 for the pair. #ThriftyNuptials

Until last year, I hadn't worn a ring regularly in a long time. To me, rings and other jewelry serve as symbols of people, ideas, passions--reminders of what's important. Necklaces, earrings, and bracelets were my go-to romantic gifts for a long time. I used to borrow jewelry and trinkets from my friends as tokens of our friendships. Some, I still have. At some point along the way, I'd gotten tired of being reminded. Of remembering things.

Our wedding was actually part of Stevie's Rite of Ascension ceremony.

But who wouldn't want to be reminded of such an epic lady? Seeing my ring every day and constantly feeling it on my finger gives me a sense of confidence, like the foundation of my reality has been bolstered. Sometimes I think of the ring as a conduit for magic powers (such as the aforementioned shots of perspective) granted by our union. I spin it around on my finger constantly--maybe that's how it's activated. Perhaps my favorite among those powers is the striking new ability to say "no." This has always been a point of weakness for me: I feel compelled to help wherever I can, even at the cost of my own well-being. Sometimes I let it get the best of me. Friends, employers, and random passersby occasionally take advantage.

Only after dozens of situations in which Stevie stated explicitly, "you can say no," did I finally come around to trying it. Usually when directed at her, my "no" is to a minor question like "Any requests for groceries this week?" or "Can you rub my feet?". But assertiveness is a skill that (at least, in my case) takes a lot of practice. Having frequent opportunities to turn things down in private makes it easier at work or in social situations.

On and ever upward!

That wasn't something I asked her to do. I'm sure she figured it out long before I did (which, again, was when she very deliberately and explicitly approved: "I'm proud of you. That was decisive."). And that's probably my favorite thing about our dynamic. We study each other and our shared environment to find paths to improvement.

During our physics undergrad, Stevie and I were research partners. Now, it's like each of us is running an ongoing experiment in trying to maximize the happiness and well-being of the other. She helps me with assertiveness; I help her with tact. I track her spending; she tracks my meals. We share responsibility and pick up each other's slack. We encourage each other to pursue our passions, and we find new activities to involve both of us. In the coming months, I'll probably write about our adventures in gardening, car sharing, food prep, sustainability... Most of what we do is a team effort--occasionally even a compromise--because we both recognize the added value.

Through it all, we both get to be exactly who we are. And we are undeniably better together.

Spoiler alert: we weren't actually dancing here.

For our one-year wedding anniversary, I considered surprising Stevie with a romantic night out and/or an expensive gift. She'd been asking me to book us for massages, but I'd been putting it off due to the (in my view, unnecessary) cost. So rather than paying (too much) for two massages and a fancy restaurant, I sent Stevie out for an hour-long massage while I cleaned the house and cooked dinner.

It wasn't glamorous or magical, but it was pretty satisfying for both of us. That's what our relationship is like. I have enjoyed the growing combination of trust, admiration, and practicality over the years. Marriage is really just the icing on the cake.

Jadzia and Data would make the power couple of the 24th century. Prove me wrong.