Book Review: Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert

The Kiss - RodinI know there are a lot of Elizabeth Gilbert haters out there, but I think she is actually a very good writer, and just because her books have been popular does not mean that her writing is mediocre. I find her writing style personable and engaging. I enjoyed Eat, Pray, Love, all the while envying her ability to travel like that – would that we could all take a year and visit three amazing places on our bucket list! Some complain that her divorce as portrayed in the book wasn’t “real” enough, even though her divorce isn’t actually the center of the story – her recovery is (and shouldn’t we single gals be supporting each other instead of tearing each other down with “if you think that’s bad” stories?).  When Committed came out, I actually bought it in hard cover (not a planned purchase, just one of those see-it-in-the-bookstore-and-think-what-the-heck purchases).  And I read it and enjoyed it, how it weaves anecdotes with research, and I learned a heck of a lot more about matrimony than I had ever known before. I like books where I learn stuff.

Here I am, on the cusp of getting married again, to someone who is not-scared-of getting married, but shall we say, a little anxious, not having been married since the mid-eighties. And I remembered this book, sitting on my shelf, about a man and a woman facing marriage, and who are also a-little-more-than-anxious about getting married. I decided to read it again, to see if I could gather any insight into my fiancé’s perspective, and explore my own feelings on the subject.

Ms. Gilbert says, “It’s been famously said that second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience, but I’m not entirely sure that’s true. It seems to me that first marriages are the more hope-drenched affairs, awash in vast expectations and easy optimism. Second marriages are cloaked, I think in something else: a respect for forces that are bigger than us, maybe. A respect that perhaps even approaches awe.” I tend to agree, although I think hope is the wrong word here. I think first-time marriages are the epitome of naivete (sorry – can’t think of a better word!), thinking that divorce will just not “happen” to them, because they think they are in control, while second marriages are hopefully careful, acknowledging that there are forces within and around a marriage that are just not in our control, but that being aware, and having that experience may actually give us an edge.

I take exception to her terminology and jaunt into singlemomdom, when she uses that washed up old term “broken home” to describe a single parent family. Although she does stress that her point about kids doing better in two-parent homes is actually in reference to the consistency and stability of a family, rather than the actual numbers of parents, I really just wish she had said that instead of the whole “kids do better in un-broken homes” section.

But the stories about the people she encounters on the other side of the world, and how silly her questions may have sounded, and the over-analyzing of the marriage statistics…  It all makes sense to me.  Because I do the same thing when I am anxious about something.  I’m not (very) anxious about my own second trip down the aisle, but as I said, I get it – I completely understand why anyone would be.

Another point that resonated with me was the discovery that early western marriages were in spite of the Church, who wanted no one between an individual and God, not even a spouse. Early western marriages, then, were alliances between a man and a woman, in effect, against the world. I like that.

I spoke with a friend today who is at the beginning stages of her second divorce, and she is obviously bitter about marriage in general.  She can’t be happy for me, although she is trying – and I understand.  She said, “Why can’t you just be happy together?  Why do you have to get married?”  I had no reply, because I understood.  But my question back is, Would your heart hurt any less if you had never gotten married this second time?  Or would it still be messy and ugly, this breaking up stuff?

In any case, this book is a thinking person’s book for anyone, not just those contemplating a second marriage. Ms. Gilbert tackles tradition, cultural differences, expectation, and anything else a skeptic would research before coming to terms with something as important and life-altering as getting married, for the second time.

Valentines and Stuff

Anthropomorphic Valentine, circa 1950–1960

Valentine’s Day. It always has me pondering stuff and

  • do I want stuff,
  • why do I want stuff, or
  • why is it ok to/not to get stuff, and back to
  • it’s really not about stuff.

Or other people, which is reason number one why I think people want stuff for Valentine’s Day. It is not a display of love between two people, it is a display of love “between” two people that is promptly shared with all and sundry, as in look-how-much-he-loves-me-because-he-got-me-this-stuff.

I get a little piece of Valentine’s Day every time he sends me a card in the mail on some random day, sends me a funny email, or any of the wonderful ways he makes me feel loved even when we’re separated by 900 freakin’ miles. Last year on Valentine’s Day, I got a little thrill when I pulled out my phone to set a tempo in class, and realized he had called and left a voicemail. My students would tell you I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face, and was blushing and giggly, just knowing he had called me. I don’t need stuff, and I don’t want stuff. I have what I want. And I am a lucky, lucky lady.

 

 

Something Borrowed, Nothing New

A letter from my grandpa to my grandma, dated 1939

A letter from my grandpa to my grandma, dated 1939

My grandparents were married in 1925, in New York City.  My grandfather was 25, my grandmother 20, and they had eloped, staying with a cousin, as they were both from upstate New York, near Buffalo.  They were both Italian immigrants, and as such, very Catholic, and this eloping thing got them in pretty hot water.  And they knew it would.  They went so far as to rent bridal regalia and have a picture taken (not a cheap process in 1925!) as proof of the marriage, and the seriousness of their intentions to my great-grandfather.  It didn’t work real well, as he didn’t speak to them until after they had their first child, almost two years later, even though they lived only blocks from each other.

Before they eloped, they dated of course, but my great-grandfather made it clear that one of my grandmother’s brothers had to “chaperone”.  My grandfather was a bowler (scandalous!), and hung out at a bar called “The Red Front” which wasn’t the most savory of places, and so my great-grandfather didn’t think him a suitable match for his eldest daughter.  Some of the brothers did a better job of chaperoning than others, and some of the younger kids reported having learned to kiss from watching my grandparents on the porch at the end of a date.

I have been reflecting on this, because sometimes we think we are the first to experience everything we experience.  And sometimes we think our ancestors led rather boring lives.  But I admire their strength and courage.  They knew they had found their one true love, and they pursued each other, even though there were clearly obstacles, namely my great-grandfather.  And it was important to them that he understand, which he eventually did.  My grandparents were married for 63 years, and although it looked like a typical love from the outside, you never know a relationship unless you are in it.

He called her “Darling”.  ❤

The Look

"Now I can buy the things I love^ Here's ...You know the saying about there being a fine line between bravery and stupidity?

Increasingly, I have been getting “the look” from people I know and work with.  The look that says the person can’t quite tell which one I am, brave or stupid.  This “idea” of giving it all up and moving south.  “Is she really gonna do it?” is what that look says.  Mostly it’s people who don’t know me too well, because the people who know me well also know it isn’t an “idea” — it’s a reality.

I can understand the look.  I can understand the thought process behind it.  But the truth is, my parents prepped me for big moments like this the entire time I was growing up.  Education, education, education was the key to independence, independence, independence.  For a long, long time, I assumed it was freedom from depending on someone else.  But it isn’t just independence from other people.  It’s also independence as my own person.  Independence from a job, career path, lifestyle, society, thought, etc.  The ability to think for myself and know myself enough to know when to walk away.  To walk toward something simpler, easier, more satisfying.  Toward a smaller pile of money, sure, but much more happiness.  And not just for me, but for my boy, too.

And it’s not all that easy.  Some things will be infinitely harder down there.  But there will be love.  Lots of love.  And I guess I never quite stopped believing that love is enough, especially now that I know what true love feels like.

The most interesting part about “the look”?  Mixed in with all of the incredulity, disbelief, and sizing up?

There’s more than a little jealousy in there, too.