“The point of marriage is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down all boundaries; on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude, and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust. A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

My bride likes things I shake my head at. Things like programs about serial killers and home remodeling. Those things may not sound similar but in my mind they’re essentially the same thing—innocent people lured into tragic consequences, played out for all to see. She also gushes about shark week all year. It’s can’t-miss programming for her. All programming aspires to be shark week when they grow up. Nothing but bites and blood and thin plot lines with cliffhangers just before the next commercial break. Stop me if you think you’ve seen this one before.

Me? I’m in the other room reading a book. Or watching a sailing video, or researching the next trip where I’ll force(!) my bride out of her comfort zone doing daring things that involve heights she wants nothing to do with, or daring cross-country escapades that require sleeping in a different bed every night and a willingness to try new foods. No lying on a quiet beach for this vagabond. Not when the maps are full of blank-to-me spaces.

In short, we’re very different in many ways, yet similar in other ways. Do we focus on the gaps between us, or the things that draw us together? The answer to that determines a happy marriage or a miserable eternal slog praying for the end of time, as Meatloaf used to sing, rest his soul, back when paradise was nothing but a fling illuminated by the dashboard lights. Good luck keeping a marriage going on that illusion. That car better be tuned up, topped off and fitted with new tires, for the journey is long. But isn’t anything worthwhile?

We reach a point where living side-by-side grows comfortable. We can go an entire drive without saying a word but simply appreciate the time together. We learn to listen for clues hidden in small spaces, and ask questions that get right to the point. Marriage is a journey through time, but also across distance. We’ll never fully close the gap, but why would we ever want to? Be as you are, and give me the space to do the same. That’s where a lifetime together is nurtured. Life isn’t infinite, but it can be marvelous.