"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." So begins Jane Austen's outstanding novel, Pride and Prejudice, and though recently I agreed with it in principle, I lived practically in direct opposition. Nearly five years out of college I was consistently single and saw nothing to change that in the near future. The reason why I was so stagnant in my unsought-for bachelorhood I'd like to examine later, really. But that seemed to be a fact of my life.
I'd had good relationships before. Most of my relationships had been good, actually, until the period before the break-up. I thought myself reasonably loyal and devoted, I recognized an unattractive propensity toward insecurity and creeping selfishness which I tried manfully to stem, and with a few exceptions my girlfriends were pretty, good, and all reasonably stable. I had even considered marriage with one or two of the more serious girlfriends, but as I've since discovered I considered it only in an academic sense. At the time it was even an attractive option. For though I was young, possessed of the moderate fortune that devolves upon a young officer with the benefits of flight pay, a Captain's salary, and the forced penury of deployments, I was quite lonely.
Many of my friends were married, however, and my exposure to and observation of their lives left me with the impression that Jane Austen was correct. While on weekends I dragged myself to bars wearying in their repetitiveness, they repined at home in pajamas watching favorite movies with a constant loved one and friend. While evenings found me shamefacedly driving through the nearest fast-food joint for the third time that week, they enjoyed more healthy fare, made lovingly by them or their partner and be shared with said loved one and friend. Never did they face the humiliation of a phone call some Saturday afternoon as I would ask in a manly voice that ill-disguised my pathetic entreaty, "anything going on tonight?" It was all the more ironic, of course, that I have from adolescence developed particularly personal relationships. I am uncomfortable with mere acquaintances, and really only enjoy the nightlife in the company of close friends. So it was noth without a little bitterness that I patiently listen to their nostalgia for "the single life."
I am a practical man, of course. I could well see that the "perfect" marriages around me were not all beer and skittles. I watched friends and comrades deal with the difficult separation of deployments, the constant demands of children, or an occasional rogue and romantic memory of "lost freedom." I knew that if I were (hypothetically) married I would have to deal with the same. After exhaustive thought on the subject--which occurred generally during uncomfortable pauses in a dinner conversation where I made an awkward third--I figured that with my natural loyalty and affection I was rather better suited than most at handling such emotional turmoil. I concluded amid my crushing solitude of single life, whether in target-rich San Diego or during the deadly boredom of a WestPac of deployment, that marriage was something to strive for.
The difficulty, of course, was finding someone TO marry. As a young Catholic male whose social life partook in the "Young Adult" community of a local parish, I found myself often amid droves of young marriageable women who fulfilled the my inconsequential requirement of being Catholic and who wanted (most of them) to be married themselves. A rich hunting ground, to be sure. The complex social etiquette of awkward social mixers and less awkward but less romantically stimulating bible studies even bore a passing resemblance to the old-fashioned and choreographed courting mores of Jane Austen's story. It was entertaining and fun to socialize and prospect among such a group, but I eschewed anything more serious than innocuous dinner-dates. The potential for gossip and the glass-house environment discouraged self-investment for all but the bravest, since one could too easily end up either pitied or reviled.
I don’t mean to disparage, by the way, that wonderful parish or the dynamic young men and women who made up its “Young Adult” group. They were all of them kind, generous, smart, and sincere. But I’ve found that in all close groups, despite the age of the people involved, there are always some characteristics of high school.
And so it was that the quietly settling foundation of my life was the irreconcilable combination of an academic imperative to marry and a certain hesitancy in entering the serious relationship that might actually lead to a marriage. My time-intensive job and increasingly married group of friends left little opportunity to meet other singles, and had I met any who wanted a serious relationship I would have had scarce time to develop it. I was also due to make several deployments in the near future, each of which would separate me a little further from youth and the young women I might have pursued. My strong Catholic moral principles put out of my reach for ever the kind of easy entertainment found among care-free young single professionals who imitate current "popular culture." And, frankly, the pressures of “dating” were intimidating.
Being naturally idealistic, I was always hopeful that I would find something to satisfy this small but conspicuous hole in my life. My first deployment offered a lot of excitement unrelated to romance, and promised thereby to break my brooding cycle regarding relationships. It also, as I discovered in situ, a good place to stockpile money. The isolated environment, military-priced stores, and busy schedule leave little time to spend money whether it’s burning a hole in one’s pocket or not. In the dark hours of deployment as I trudged home, exhausted from the studying, planning, briefing, and criticizing that is business as usual in my profession, often in freezing rain and well after dark, I concocted delicious fantasies of entertaining beautiful young women in style with my growing “date fund,” finally capturing for myself...well, that was the problem. My delicious fantasies would break down at the point where I’d actually have to imagine the person that would become my spouse.
My return to Miramar was exciting and happy for many reasons and though my “date fund” was flush and my disposition more cheerful, I still seemed deadlocked on the relationship side. All the old problems were still there. I made an effort to be sociable and weekly met eligible young ladies--Catholics all--but couldn’t really make anything stick (no “that’s what she said” comments, please). Was I too picky? I wondered in the gross parlance of our times. Was I unlucky? Had I missed my opportunity by screwing up a past relationship?
Well, things changed on June 24th, 2009. Elsewhere I’ve told the story of meeting my wife. We were married on February 6th, 2010. Happily. We still are (nearly three months later).
There are a lot of clichés about love in our world. Most of them, I’m slightly embarrassed to admit, are true. As I drew toward the big day of marriage, I found myself considering a lot of existential questions. I abhor complacency in life. So it was very important to me that I knew exactly what I was getting into and that I went about it the right way (again, no more “that’s what she said” jokes, please). Suddenly things I'd always considered inconsequential became very important: who stood by me on the altar, what gifts I would give to them, the words of the marriage liturgy. It became important that I wear my uniform, and that the marriage occur at Notre Dame. Such things were incidental, of course, to the sacrament, but like the sacrament they were symbols of who I was.
Now there is a cliché. That last sentence. “Symbols of who I was.” Who is anybody, really? (That’s an existential question, by the way.) The history that God will reveal to me on Judgment Day will include much from my life that has no place among my desired self and the austere, bracing symbols of my wedding ceremony. That history will not be confined to the spiritual and intellectual formation I received at college under the star-studded and gothic-groined ceiling of the Basilica. It will not be confined to the hard, clean virtue preached (and mostly lived) by the Marine Corps and Naval Aviation. It will include more sordid relationships than those epitomized by the cousins and great friends who stood by me on the altar--all young men who inspired me throughout life and brought me well-prepared to that wonderful day. It will show failures and moments of weakness that are momentarily straitened by the stern lines and gold buttons of my Marine uniform. For like my peers, I have had a colorful and confused life. Who I was at that moment is known but to God and my conscience, and I have no desire to examine the latter too closely here. Who I wanted to be was represented by those powerfully symbolic incidentals at my wedding.
The point of all this cogitation, of course, was about being the kind of man that was worthy of my bride. Again, a cliché. A sweet one. But like most sweet clichés, true. My academic interest in marriage had dissolved completely in the magic latter months of 2009 as I wantonly and gleefully squandered my “date fund” on plane tickets to and from Chicago and devoted all my free time to the relationship. The excitement, the sense of utter purity, the feeling of being lifted above the mundane world--those things had blasted my selfish little complacency and fear of loneliness beyond my comprehension, where they lay exposed as miserable, cramped emotional pits under the incandescent glare of my new love. I realized the true meaning of the word “regret" and wished that all the personal investment I had put forth into previous relationships was still available to spend on my fiancée. It wasn’t a negative regret, either. It sprang forth from the intense joy she gave me I and made every encounter with her more precious. I realized that where previously I had focused on marriage as a sort of luxury trade wherein I could pay with affection and loyalty and receive comfort, suddenly I wanted marriage because I desired connectedness with her, her unique person.
She was, simply, the beloved. Beatrice. A shining symbol of all that I valued and desired and an irresistible portal thereto. I wanted to present myself to her unstained and pure, such that I could, and in such wise as to secure her ardor, affection, and admiration. And so I learned from this new experience of regret that it was time to discard selfishness and self-indulgence and self-regard with those mistakes I made long ago, stepping forward as a dynamic and committed lover. It was time to "man up." The best part, of course, was that not only did my bride eminently deserve my love for all that she was, but that she also loved me. And so she stepped forward with me as an equal partner; a true and best comrade; a friend without peer.
All my previous life was transience. Since adolescence I had been groping at the love that stood with me on February 6, 2010, finding it only in teasing glimpses--through beloved literature, or in the accomplishing of some great task, or the comforting experience of a good friend. These were foretastes of the banquet that awaited me in my wife; they were discernible signposts in the muddy confusion of youth. "To know and love one other human being is the root of all wisdom." In marriage I feel the sweet release of heaven, for it is a new beginning to life--life better founded than before. It is a new beginning of reciprocated love and great regard, a new beginning of comfort in having a partner to share the load of this world, and a new beginning of happiness in knowing where your place is. Next to your wife (or husband, as the case may be). For better or worse. In good times and in bad. In sickness and in health. As long as you both shall live.
Marriage, of course, has its own set of problems. There are differences of opinion and expectation, periodic arguments, and in my line of work the occasional but devastating pain of separation. There will likely be difficulties with children and sleepless nights and financial worries and anger and frustration as the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” strike home throughout life. Already I’ve experienced the unknown pain of being separated from my wife or of finding myself at odds with her, and I have no doubt that such instances will continue, as learning to live and grow together is a lifetime task. But I wouldn’t trade my difficulties now for my difficulties prior to June 24, 2009. The quality of my life now--married--is so far superior to my quality of life before as to defy comparison. My new beginning has been made with my Kate, and it is better by far than anything I imagined.
Austen was right: I did want a wife. But not in the way I imagined, nor in the way critics often construe her opening sentence. I wanted someone to love, someone with whom I could share life and all its wonders. And I found her: I am a new creation with Kate.
