From Depositphotos.
My friend “Lucille” has the kind of marriage that people always point to, when they’re trying to sell us single people on the joys of marriage.
Lucille has been married to “Harry” for over 30 years, a second marriage for both. They’re growing old happily together. Lucille, a retired scientist, allows Harry, a semi-retired artist, to expand her creative horizons as they travel the world together. Both love cruises. Both remain addicted to healthy lifestyles: they eat sensibly, exercise and remain involved in the world.
They’re real. No wonder well-meaning friends use them as an example: “Look what you could have!”
There’s just one problem. Not every marriage compares to Lucille and Harry. Marriage is not an insurance policy that protects you from growing old alone.
For instance, in this “Dear Annie” advice column, a woman admits she cries as her retirement dreams collapse. She’d always wanted to use her retirement years to travel, learn new languages, take art classes and try kayaking. Her husband wants to live in his recliner, visit the same three restaurants, and forego travel.
“Why would I want to go anywhere?” he snorts. The LW has to travel by herself or forego her lifelong dreams – the life she has worked for.
In a “Dear Eric” column, we hear from another woman: a liberal social worker with deep concerns about the way immigrants have been treated.
When she married, she says, she and her husband shared progressive values. Now he’s gone “full-on MAGA:” he complains that academia is too “woke.” Because this issue is a part of her identity, she can’t ignore it. She can’t sidestep the vast difference that has appeared in their values. “This is not the person I married,” she says.
A divorce now will be costly, emotionally as well as financially. The part of their identity that firmly says “coupled” will now change to “solo.” It will take time to learn how to function as a single person, instead of half of a couple.
Of course there’s no single right answer. Sometimes the early days of the marriage are so wonderful, they make up for the rest. Sometimes they keep getting better. Sometimes choosing to remain single means missing out on something wonderful.
But I wish the advice to single people were framed differently. You could have a marriage like Lucille and Harry. Then it would be accurate to say, “You won’t age alone.”
But your partner could change. You could change. The world could change. And you understand that nothing insures you against aging alone.
So when I hear someone warn singles, “You’ll grow old alone and lonely,” I want to hear them say, “You increase the odds that you won’t grow old alone. But you may be growing old in a style that is very different from what you expected.
And you may still grow old alone.
Maybe it’s better to stop the practice of asking singles, “When will you find someone and settle down?”
We can celebrate the example of Lucille and Harry. They saw their expectations fulfilled, and then some.
But no one can be promised a marriage like theirs. Hopes, yes; guarantees, no.
Maybe it’s better to say, “I hope you’ll make a wise choice, whether you decide to stay single or find a partner. Even more, I hope you find a happy and lucky outcome.”
