I see marriage as a traditional legal binding that can alter your life significantly depending on your state and country.

You might see it differently. What does marriage mean to you?

  • eightpix@lemmy.world
    16·
    2 days ago

    I had intended to not.

    Then, after a turn at living together with my partner in an Islamic country — where we were not allowed to officially cohabit — we realized that our rights to watch each other’s backs were made way simpler by being married.

    So we got married.

    Had we always lived in a country that recognized cohabitation or common-law relationships, we might have not. Had our next sojourn not been in a predominantly Catholic country, we might have not. Had we more role models who didn’t, we might have not. Had we moved home earlier, we might have not.

    But we did. It was 12 years ago.

    Bottom line, we don’t find it burdensome; or that we are locked in a prison together. We care for one another. We drive one another crazy. We have the same fights over and over. We support each other and keep track of each other’s families, friends, medical conditions, and car keys. It’s nice. It’s mundane. It’s comfortable. It’s practical.

    Getting out would be a giant pain in the everything. And expensive.

    We don’t wield our rings against one another. We don’t demand “rights” from one another because we’re married. We don’t have extraordinary unspoken expectations of one another. We accept, value, and console one another. We’re a unit in this fucked up place.

    People are crazy. I’m crazy. She’s the crazy I’m used to and can interact with.

    I’m too old for new crazy.

    Granted, she’s certainly gaining more by being married to me than I am being married to her. But, we don’t keep score either.

    TL;DR — comments in bold.

      • eightpix@lemmy.world
        3·
        13 hours ago

        First and foremost, she gains cleaning. Everything except bathrooms.

        Half the cooking. She has dietary restrictions, I don’t. We don’t eat outside of home often. Except phở bò.

        Every form of maintenance. Cars, computers, all machines and objects with moving parts.

        Weekends away with friends. I never question and I never say no.

        Few hard feelings when she’s temperamental.

        What do I gain?

        I’ll probably live longer because she makes me go to the doctor, the dentist, physiotherapy, and reduces my cheese and bacon intake. But not salt. She loves salt.

        I gain perspective. I don’t occupy i high tower where I know everything and remain academically distant and untouched by the world. I gain knowledge of all the books I don’t (and wouldn’t) read. I gain access to emotional and psychological non-fiction content.

        Finally, I gain the companionship of someone who lets me do my wierd. Nothing kinky or malicious or wasteful or destructive — just unreasonably high standards and unreasonably low output. No blame for it as long as bills are paid and food is in the fridge.

        She’d like to see me try to shoot the moon, and I love her for it. We’ll see. I can’t even put together a string of Lemmy posts worthy of acclaim.