Marrying for 20 Years, Not for Life
Choosing a finite 20-year marriage over a “forever” one brought unexpected gifts of intentionality, presence and fulfilment.
Some 20 years ago, I met a man who would become a father, our son’s father. He would become the most important person in the world to this young child— and later, young man — and an important person in mine.
Before he became a father, he became a husband, and before that, a person I ran with, went to the theatre with and enjoyed evenings in Paris with. He was — and is — an exceedingly kind, reliable and loving man.
We moved to the South Pacific.
Before that, we married. It was a small affair, but my closest friend flew from Los Angeles, as did my father, also from California, to join us in a small, beautiful French coastal town. The day went off without a hitch — the wedding was simple, after all. It was a step in a series of steps that would change the directions of our lives, for a time.
Before we said, “I do,” I said to my future husband, “I cannot do this for forever. Forever is a long time. And goodness knows, we may end up living for forever. That’s a very long time.”
He looked at me, blinking.
“I can’t do forever, but I can do 20 years, the time it would take to conceive, birth and raise a child into adulthood. I propose that we start with 20 years. Then we will reevaluate. If we still want to be together at the end of 20 years, we can renew the contract, maybe for shorter, maybe for longer. How does that feel?”
He blinked again, and smiled.
We married.
I learned recently, that though we had spoken of it at nearly every anniversary — Him: “Only 12 years to go! Woo hoo!” Me: “Look at how far we’ve come.” — he has, to this day, always thought I was joking.
“How could you not be joking? I mean, who does that? Everyone knows you marry for life, ‘till death do you part’.”
“I know that’s what humans do, and the Church and Society expect that of us. Pressure us into that. Yes, I get that. That was what I tried to get ahead of 20 years ago. I’m not convinced people are designed to spend all of their lives with the same human. Of course, it’s wonderful when it works: it is! But look at the divorce rates. Look at all the unhappy marriages. Look at the life crises and people “stepping out” of marriages. Look at what the stronghold of lifetime marriage does to people. I knew at the time I couldn’t marry for life, and I shared that with you. I baked a 20-year contract into our marriage from before we signed.”
I should insert here that we were both nearly 40 when we married and then quickly conceived and birthed our son. We were an older couple and older parents.
I should also insert here that I’d been married before and been a single parent for the duration of the 15-year marriage. It was important to me to provide a two-person parenting environment for my second child, which would be in place for the duration of his childhood years. I did not want to create a situation that would mean he would be shuttled back and forth between homes, and so in asking for the 20 years, I was also asking for home stability for our son, and for our marriage. Could I do longer than 20 years? As I’ve said, I wasn’t sure I could, but one thing I was sure of was that I could and would commit fully to the first 20 years.
Which I have done.
The young child has become a young man. He has launched into the world. He has benefitted from the stability of a committed marriage and family home.
We have 20 years of incredibly happy memories that we will cherish our entire lives.
We have travelled the world, worldschooling him, adventuring into over 30 countries in 5 of the 7 continents. We have stood on the edge of an erupting volcano in the dead of night, swum with sharks in the wild, spent hours picking up elephant dung and giving alms to monks in Luang Prabang (Laos). We have paid our respects to the hundreds of thousands of people who died in Hiroshima and planted trees in Cambodia. Our last trip in India brought us even closer together as we floated through the backwaters of Kerala. He sat back and said, “This is what is important.”
Our son was referring to the moment, the present, our pause, to how we got here, and to all the paths that lie ahead, open to him, to me, to his father. Time had stopped.
This is what is important.
I rarely mention the 20-year contract to others. I forget it is not “normal” and just assume everyone is doing it. To the few people I’ve mentioned it to, though, it has caused surprise — as if it were somehow a subversive act. Saying you can’t do something for life, but you can commit to 20 years. Saying you will give it your all — you will stick in and commit, come hell or high water — for 20 years and you will make it the best life yet, with and for these humans. Saying that at the end of those 20 years, you will reevaluate and see what comes next.
I see Life in chapters. I don’t see it as one long linear story (for example, marriage, house, car, dog, 2.5 children, retirement, death), but as a series of chapters with (possibly) different players and experiences.
I also see Life as a petri dish, a place to run experiments.
I was once told I couldn’t live life as if it were a series of experiments, which confused me. Why not? Because doing so would hurt others, I suppose my friend was thinking. But running life like everyone else does, without thinking about what might be best for all of us, couldn’t that also wind up hurting others? I looked around and saw so much buried heartache, so many people trying to live up to expectations, not owned but imposed. Is that what I wanted to participate in?
My life has been about choice. I have been making conscious choices all the way along. Sure, like many humans, I may have made unconscious choices, as well. But the number of times I have infuriated my family by changing parents, changing countries, consciously choosing my first child, choosing not to own a home, but consciously choosing to own my own business, hacking education and choosing the containers I can manage marriage in, are innumerable. They have thrown up their hands in despair, “Can’t you just be normal?!?”
Normal is not what drives me.
The quest for a better life, an authentic life, a life on purpose —I think this is what drives me.
This is what is important.
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