Absolutes, The Ultimate Deal Breaker and My Heavy Nauseating Dismay

"Adultery is the vice of equivocation. It is not marriage but a mockery of it, a merging that mixes love and dread together like jackstraws. There is no understanding of contentment in adultery.... You belong to each other in what together you’ve made of a third identity that almost immediately cancels your own. There is a law in art that proves it. Two colors are proven complimentary only when forming that most desolate of all colors—neutral gray." (Alexander Theroux, 1987)

Marriage. I can't pretend to know much about it. That's a road I've yet to wander. Today, though, I began to think about the state of it, and the reckless state of love, as well. I was finishing my work day in my office, talking to my new intern about his duties, when I got a call from a 515 number that I did not recognize. Fearful for my parents who were driving home to Iowa (home of the 515 area code), I picked up.

Casually on the other end of the line was Adam* (*names have been changed), my friend Krissy*'s new husband:

Adam: "Hi Kate! How's it going? This is Adam Strong, how are you?"

Me: "HI. Is Krissy okay? Is everything alright?" (I was worried. This call was unexpected. I hadn't talked to either of them since the wedding a little less than a year ago.)

Adam: "Yea, she's fine. I was just wondering how your weekend was."

Me: "Um, it was good. How was yours?"

Adam: "Did you and Krissy have a good time?"

Insert heavy, puzzled, dreadful silence here.

"I'll take the silence to mean you didn't see her this weekend. She said she was coming to visit you."

Long effing pause.

Me: "...I'm sorry. Oh God."

Adam: "It's ok. That's all I needed to know. Thanks. I have to go."

click.

I sat. My intern left. I sat some more. My brain trying to piece together the implications of the conversation that had transpired. Dread. Nauseating empathy. Sadness. Fear. Palpable disgust. My friend tangled me in a lie, and that is the best thing I can say about this situation. A marriage is probably ruined today, and two souls are left in tatters.

A vow is defined as "n. an earnest promise," "a declaration or assertion." To "vow," though, is also a verb, and must be acted thereupon. When we make an irrevocable promise, especially one of this magnitude, it is our obligation to consistently and deliberately relive our words through our actions (if only to remind ourselves of said vow), and anything less is unconscionable. Because when we vow to do something, whatever that thing may be, it means more than our intentions at the time. A vow is a verb that dictates, at the very least, consistency. In the realm of active verbs, intention means nothing. If we lose sight of our promises to one another, even for a moment, we open ourselves to the potential for all of the awful possibilities that could exist, and would exist, if we didn't keep on point. And even if it may not suit us at the time, it is important to remember that a vow is greater than an individual.

Let's not forget that nobody actually knows what happened between Krissy and Adam. There are always two sides to the proverbial a coin, and I've been told that each person deserves at least 70 excuses. So. Did she cheat? I don't know, and I don't plan to try and figure it out. And besides, that's not the point, anyway.

Now, if I had no other option but to choose between the two, I'd most certainly rather be abandoned than betrayed, and I'll be the first to condemn adultery. However, we are all human, and none of us are above the potential for small lapses in judgment or even devastating crimes against one another (I guess). But may we be protected from both, insha Allah.

The point I am trying to make here, is simply the necessity for deliberation and preparation, especially when entering into contractual vows.

When I was growing up, my father once replied to a question with a quote by Antoine de Ste. Exupery (the author of Le Petit Prince) that I haven't forgotten: "Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction". This is true, I think, because when we are looking at one another, we are essentially seeking ourselves; and in seeking ourselves we seek the fallible. And marriage, I gather, is not some whimsical party that just happens, it is a marathon of epic proportions, complete with dehydration and the inability to stop to go to the bathroom, metaphorically speaking. In marriage, we've got to be ready to get past the mess, whatever that may mean.

So in contemplating marriage we have to stop and think about what those vows actually entail. They include, but are not limited to, recognizing each others' faults and failures, making each others' families our family and realizing that even the most magical of love changes over time. Those vows mean that we have to stop being sixteen and look out for each other, often before we begin to consider ourselves. Those vows mean that we have to know exactly where we are going, agree to the terms and 'stay the course' (and yea, unfortunately, marriage sometimes looks more like Iraq than it resembles Paradise). To participate in the active 'verb' of love, it means that we no longer have the privilege of simply fending for ourselves, and that our internal compasses must point in the same direction. And when that fails, we have to reset towards due North (or North East, depending).

And in honor of keeping things real (or kosher or honest or halal), I think we'd all agree (whatever our orientation) that when the opportunity to do something absolutely wrong looks us in the eye, we've got to find a way lower our gaze.