I’m getting emotional
Forgive my sentimentality, but it’s that time of year. Graduations. Class reunions. In my family, we have four spring birthdays — and an anniversary. My wife and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary last year, in quarantine. We had to cancel reservations for a staycation getaway at a hotel downtown. The hotel still hasn’t announced plans to reopen. This year, our 26th quietly came and went.
The thing about our anniversary, and maybe most, is that each year the marker becomes more and more entwined with every other milestone we notch. Our oldest is graduating from college. Our second son is releasing his first EP. Our daughter is returning to the ballet stage for the first time in over a year. How can we celebrate our anniversary without celebrating everything that we have done together to bring us to this point as a family?
I recently heard the term “grey divorce,” which describes the phenomenon of couples divorcing later in life. Recent headline grabbing examples include Tipper and Al Gore, Mackenzie and Jeff Bezos, and most recently Melinda and Bill Gates, all divorcing after more than 25 years of superficially successful marriages. But this isn’t just happening to prominent, uber-wealthy couples. The divorce rate for all Americans over 50 has doubled since 1990.[1]
What’s happening? Americans are living longer, healthier lives. Societal taboos are less potent. Baby Boomers and Gen X’ers feel freer to re-evaluate their relationships over time. When men choose to end a marriage, it’s often to pursue a new relationship or to more fully develop one they are already in — this doesn’t seem new. Of course, we’re now learning that Bill Gates is a long-time philanderer. In my personal observational experience, men don’t usually leave unless and until there’s someone else. When women choose to leave a marriage, however, it’s more commonly to begin a new chapter.[2] Divorce is often sad but it isn’t necessarily a tragedy, and for many it’s certainly the right choice, if not the only choice.
Before high school, my family moved just about every two years. I was born in Chicago, then my family worked its way through various mid-Atlantic cities, finally settling in Stone Mountain, Georgia. According to writer Christopher Ingraham, formerly of the Brookings Institution and the Pew Research Center, “Moving as a child can change who you are as an adult.” The data shows that kids who move often, even controlling for income and psychiatric history, are more prone to violence, substance abuse, and suicide.[3] Fortunately, I escaped those dangers, but I do know that moving so frequently affected me.
Positively, I learned how to make friends and I was exposed to different customs and norms in different parts of the country. I remember once having to stand in the corner in my fifth-grade classroom outside Richmond, Virginia, when a substitute teacher asked me a question and I responded by saying “Yes.” When she asked again, I repeated myself. After failing again on my third try, I was sent to the corner of the room; the correct answer was “Yes, Ma’am.” I literally had no idea.
Outweighing those positives, however, “Relocated adolescents often face a double stress of adapting to an alien environment, a new school, and building new friendships and social networks, while simultaneously coping with the fundamental biological and developmental transitions that their peers also experience,” observed British researcher Roger Webb, who studied these impacts by reviewing the records of literally every single person born in Denmark between 1971 and 1997. “Mobility may be intrinsically harmful,” he concluded.[4] Couple that with my adoption story, and it’s no wonder I didn’t really have a serious long-term relationship until I met my wife in my 20s.
When I met Stephanie, she was in medical school. I started business school the following year. A couple years later, we moved to New York shortly after getting engaged. I always imagined my partner would have a career. And I always assumed she’d keep her own name, which Stephanie did. I also knew that someone who shared my values would prioritize balancing a family with a career, not letting either one consume or overwhelm the other. And obviously, we would support each other to make that balance possible.
I later learned that this was called an egalitarian marriage, as opposed to a conventional or counter-conventional one. And I was surprised that this is not what all of our peers would have. As late as the 1990s, when we married, about 80 percent of couples chose a conventional approach to marriage and a traditional division of household labor and family responsibilities. Even today, most couples in this country still opt for this model.[5]
An egalitarian relationship is not the easy option. In a conventional marriage, responsibilities are divided up in neatly defined ways — the husband works outside the home and the wife handles the domestic responsibilities; or the husband manages the yardwork, the wife manages the housework; or the husband manages the money and the wife manages the children. An egalitarian marriage demands clear and constant communication. You can’t necessarily make assumptions about who’s picking up the kids from school or doing the laundry or making dinner on any given day. You have to talk about it. It can frankly be exhausting. In our relationship, we tend to play to our strengths — Stephanie does the organizing, I do the cooking, for instance — but otherwise, we consciously need to decide who is going to be responsible for any particular task. And big decisions are made together.
I feel genuinely vested in my relationship. I don’t just see what I have contributed, but I see equally what I have gained. I can see with a clear head not just what I have sacrificed or put up with but also what my wife has sacrificed and put up with — neither of us has a monopoly on the martyrdom it takes to be in a lifelong committed relationship.
I have often said I grow roots like a dandelion. Change is hard for me. I’ve only had two jobs since graduate school. I don’t even like changing dinner plans. Maybe it has something to do with how often I moved as a kid. But that’s okay. I’m not damaged. I’m just not a “grass is always greener” kind of person.
At our son’s college graduation in a few days, I won’t just be thinking about the past four years, or even the past 22. I’ll be thinking about all the days since June 1, 1991, when I met Stephanie at a friend’s party. When her friend encouraged her to get up off the couch, walk over to the kitchen where I was putting a six-pack of beer in the refrigerator, and strategically position herself next to me. History has drawn a straight line from that interaction through every decision we’ve made together since that moment up to this one.
When my son accepts his diploma, I’ll know that I didn’t get to this milestone alone. I got here with another person who has been an equal partner through it all — and we’ve shared it all with uncompromising integrity, determined optimism, and a little bit of humor. Sometimes it’s not been easy, but it’s always been worth it. Grey divorce. Greener grass. I’m not interested. I’m fortunate Stephanie feels the same. The milestones just get sweeter and sweeter.
[1] https://www.cnn.com/2021/05/06/opinions/older-couples-gates-divorcing-wellness/index.html
[2] Ibid.
[3] https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2016/06/13/moving-as-a-child-can-change-who-you-are-as-an-adult/
[4] https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2016/06/13/moving-as-a-child-can-change-who-you-are-as-an-adult/
[5] https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/meet-catch-and-keep/201804/are-you-egalitarian-couple
