Bondage

"Whether we know it or not, whether we want to or not, and whether we care or not, we are all programmed to try to win our generation's game of reproduction - we are all programmed to pursue reproductive success." - Robin Baker

I've got a theory. Yup.

I've alluded to it in my most recent post, Chump and I touched on the biological factors in a post from 2008 called Polarity. But it's funny, because this topic keeps coming up over and over again in conversations that I've had with others, so I'm going to make the effort to put in into words, to share my theory with my blog-reading world.

Please do not bother to point out that the theory contains some sweeping generalizations. Of course it does. We all know exceptions to the rule, but my friends, trust that those are exceptions. I actually attempted to google some statistics to help beef up my argument, but the statistics I found are a bit older than I'm comfortable with and don't take in to consideration some of the nuance I'm speaking of. Therefore, fact is null and void and it's me spewing my highly (il)logical argument into the ethernet.

Theory: First marriages are doomed to failure.

(There are a handful for whom lighting strikes once and life is bliss from the walk down the aisle to the pall bearers walk. But, they are the minority, I assure you. JB comes to mind, and I know he's reading this and rolling his eyes at me, but he has two things going for him - 1. He's great. 2. His wife is exceptional.)

Wait, wait...maybe my theory needs some qualifiers. I'm not talking about the first marriage that occurs at age 38 between two people who hold out for the lightning the first time then finally find each other. I'm talking about the other kind; the kind that occurs in your mid-to-late 20's - the kind that most people I know are in or were in.

OK, now we have our frame of reference, right? Good. So, back to the theory. First marriages are almost always doomed to failure. There are many reasons for this, some biological, some generational, some situational and some circumstantial.

When you are in your 20's and you're looking at your life, you have plans - educational goals, career goals and family goals. Through your 20-something glasses, you envision your future.

When I reflect back to where I was when I was 21 (the year I began dating the man that would ultimately become my ex-husband), I was completing a degree in Marketing, planning to sell to the world. I had spent a great deal of time traveling in my life. I came from a crazy family that did their own thing all the time. I desperately wanted to have children, and to give them the things that I felt I had lacked all along - stability, roots.

So, with my mind functioning both consciously and sub-, I chose my husband, the father of my children. I wanted someone stable, first and foremost. I wanted someone outgoing enough to give my children a chance against my reserve. I wanted someone reliable, that didn't challenge my desires or needs, someone kind and nurturing, that would support my goals and help me build a home.

From a subconscious point of view, I wanted someone virile, healthy (genetically) but with a weak enough gene distribution that it wouldn't dampen my own - I wanted to make sure my children would look exactly like me - and I did very well in that regard. (Incidentally, this is something we all want, even if we can't admit it - that's biology at work).

Each of us has our own reasons, our own criteria. But the end result is the same. We seek someone at that point in time for very specific reasons. We're building our careers, we're defining ourselves, we're just beginning our voyage into who it is we are meant to be and we need someone that can support that chapter in our lives.

So we mentally make our list of what we need in another, and then we meet someone that fits that criteria, and we fit whatever criteria they've developed too. We are blown away. We enter into this relationship with nothing but noble intentions. Til death do us part? You bet! I'm onboard. And it's sincere - it is our sincere hope and our sincere desire.

But we made a critical mistake. We never bothered to appreciate how significantly we'd change. And that they would as well. We might have even had the conversation (as my husband and I did) but at the time, we were certain that we'd grow together, because our ultimate goals were the same - we wanted this. No, I mean it...we REALLY WANTED this.

But, ten years pass and in those ten years, we've achieved some of the goals we set out to achieve and some of the goals have changed. We've sacrificed huge parts of ourselves to make it work against our better judgement (because we were sincere and we REALLY WANTED this) and now our careers have gone one way, our lives have gone one way, our psyches have gone one way and our souls are somewhere else.

But, now we're in our mid-thirties, and we know ourselves. It's a true triumph, really. We are at this place in time where we genuinely know exactly who we are and what we want (at least for the time being, we could change again!). Our careers are where we intended them to be. Even if we're not completely happy in our careers, at this point, we've got a 99.9% knowledge of where we'll be at retirement. (And if we don't, that's a whole other ball of wax).

We know clearly who we are now - as defined by our professional life, the friendships that remain and the new ones formed, the children now present and the amazing deep-breath that comes from having accomplished all of that shit in just 10 short years.

And you lay in bed next to this person that your promised forever to, and as their hands clumsily touch your body you wonder how they couldn't have learned the right way to touch you in ten years, and you say something random that is on your mind and they look at you blankly and you stop and think...is this really what I've done? Is this really what I promised forever for? Is this really what I wanted?

No, of course not. Because the person you chose was chosen for what you thought were the right reasons, and in some ways, they were. That's the person you chose to start a family with and to start a life with. In reality, it wasn't the worst thing you could have done. Sometimes, you need the impetus of wrong to learn right.

If you waited, you probably wouldn't have had the reproductive success your biology mandated you to have. Your career may have taken a different turn. You may have ended up being the most selfish human being on the planet. You likely would have found yourself in a string of short-term relationships that left you feeling...nothing. Worse, you may have found yourself so lonely that you ultimately pledged yourself to someone so utterly wrong for you that life was filled with drama. No, you didn't do any of that. You married a good person and started your family - just the way you thought you were supposed to.

The rub is that it wasn't the person you chose for you. It's a no-fault clause. You couldn't have chosen the person that was right for you, because you didn't even know you. You hadn't even become you.

There is a salvation, however. You admit to yourself that it's OK. You admit to yourself that you are worth more. You prioritize yourself (for a fucking change) and realize that you're still only in your 30's. You acknowledge that you made a mistake, and that while you married a very good person, with a good heart and a good soul, you simply need more.

You acknowledge your selfishness. You set out to find to the person that is just for you. And it's OK, because you're only in your 30's. And you've got your entire lifetime ahead of you and then some. And you acknowledge that you'd rather spend that time with the person that is for you. And yes, it's much harder now - because you're talking about the children, you're talking about complicated finances, you're talking about hurting someone you do love, just not in the way you want to love.

But you look forward to the next 30 - with the person that is just for you.