Why I have been happily unmarried for 12 years
I really have no objection to being married to Scott, at least at this point. Being with Scott is already as permanent a condition as ever this sort of thing ever is, and probably at least as solid as most marriages. No, cold feet isn't it. Marriage probably wouldn't change much besides our tax accounting at this point, anyway. Besides, had we any qualms about commitment, I daresay a [large number of] dollars' worth of jointly purchased Silicon Valley real estate or a shared bathroom drawer might have exposed them by now.
I can't say it's an open relationship, either. I can think of others I'd gladly explore further, were it so. (I've never been one to be focused or decisive, and guys are no exception, frequently to their discomfort.) Scott prefers not to share me, though, and by and large, I've respected that. I've kissed and hugged and cared for a few others since meeting Scott, openly and with his knowledge and (sometimes reluctant) consent, but it has not gone beyond that, and I rather doubt that calling it marriage would change that very much.
If you ask Scott, he'll tell you, only half jokingly, that we're avoiding it because he's certain that as soon as we marry, the next question will be when we're having kids. He no longer panics at my slightest suggestion of "children someday" but only because of the "someday" part. He doesn't think he's a child person, or at least he's not ready. I think I'm up to the task of motherhood, if somewhat nervous at the prospect of pregnancy. (I'm too chicken even to have had my ears pierced.) Moreover, I'm not at a stage where I'd like to give up my career, which I strongly fear it might mean to have children. So there is that. It's just easier to make excuses about not being married than about not having kids.
I would love to say that I reject marriage or weddings on high-minded, ideological grounds. Granted, in the Independent Republic of Me, marriage would have no legal standing whatsoever, according to the principle of separation of church and state. The rights and privileges would be handled contractually and explicitly, if they were wanted, and would be just as available to trusted friends and partners (need I add same-sex?) as to those choosing to call their relationship marriage (which everybody would be permitted to do according to their own beliefs). Still, I have an ideological objection to automobiles but drive one nonetheless as a practical matter.
The real reason, for me, is the wedding. I hate weddings with a passion and a fury I can only partially explain rationally. There is the obvious stuff, the expense and the logistics and the being on stage of it all, but I don't think that's it. My 30-person guest list would undoubtedly mushroom into 200 by the time both our moms got through inviting extended family to the wedding of their eldest children, but if I were planning somebody else's party on that scale, I think I'd probably have a grand time squeezing every extra drop out of the budget and making sure everything materialized neatly and on time. As for being the center of attention, I have been known to enjoy it, under the right circumstances. (Birthdays are not the right circumstances. My mother might have done something worth celebrating on my birthday, but I didn't really.) When I merit the interest and attention of others, I'll seek it out gently and gladly accept it. So I don't think it's a problem of logistics or stage fright.
It's not the bad music, though were I the one in charge, the standard wedding march would not put in an appearance, nor would Pachelbel's Canon. (Look at the sheet music sideways, said my band director. The notes line up.) Scott and I would doubtless have a long and detailed talk with any would-be DJs to eradicate various other sticky, tired tunes from the reception repertoire.
When one friend of mine got married, I saw the backstage view, if you will, of the production. I read library books. The timeline and logistics stuff was fun, really. What had me in tears, and I mean full-on, screaming rage, was the one about the ceremonies. Of course, take out the "obey" stuff. It's passÃ©, and we both take too much pleasure in rebellion and malicious obedience to make a promise like that.
Take out all the religion, too. Scott will squirm for a moment but tolerate it. I'm an atheist. You may worship as you please, but on some deeply personal level, I decline—no, refuse—to participate. I'll show up in places of worship now and then in support of friends. I'll stand, sit, attemptt to) sing, fine. To do something like pray or take communion is to me nothing short of a lie. You'll find me silent or hiding in back for those parts.
Take out the residual symbolism that I don't like. The part about walking down the aisle on my father's arm, to be given away directly into the care of another man. Feminist? Yes, thanks. I have nothing against my dad (save that he's a bit stodgy and I don't much relish the thought of dancing with him while others look on). Gender aside, am I not my own to give, and haven't I given myself long, long ago? So perhaps we'll walk down the aisle together and see how many people even that bit of anti-traditionalism can manage to offend.
Take out the officiant. She's probably not saying anything new, anyway, and accordingly, nobody is listening. Moreover, it is by nobody's authority but my own that I love and live with whom I choose. And I don't need anyone's permission to kiss him but his.
Take away the ring. I have lost the last three, at least, that I've attempted to wear regularly. They don't fit, or if they do fit, they stop fitting when I get hot or cold.
Leave out the audience. My love is not public. It is not secret, but it is not on display for the approval, pressures, scrutiny, ridicule, or respect of others. It is personal, and it is stronger and more deeply nuanced than they can know, than they can share. Even those who have been fortunate enough to know love properly cannot fathom our own special flavor of it.
Leave me my own name. I have worn it too long to give it up. I'm not him, I'm myself. Rebelliously, proudly, obstinately myself. He is here only and only because he allows me to be myself and gives me the space, makes me the space to be myself.
Finally, and emphatically, leave me my identity. Look at a good religious studies text on ritual. Rites of passage strip the participants of identity, in the process of changing it, voluntarily or by coercion. The dress (or lack thereof!) is not the normal wear of the participants, and the words and actions they repeat—repeat!—are not their own. American weddings are primarily symbolic, but other rites of passage range from demeaning to downright injurious and there are echoes of the dehumanizing demands of societies and traditions even in our tamest, most civilized ceremonies. Why are graduates, for instance, not trusted to select their own apparel on what should be their own proud day of independence and personal identity? Brides and grooms have a little more latitude, supposedly, and pending approval of families. Some families would not look askance at swim fins and snorkels, but a good many would nix the notion out of hand. In so doing, they'd (perhaps unwittingly) enforce the purpose of a rite of passage ceremony: to mold the participants to the norms of the community they will be joining.
Personalize it all you like. Choose the colors and the fashions and the favors (another job to prepare the bride for her new roles!) Write parts of the vows, if you think your words are more meaningful than the standard fare. Still, there is nothing innovative, groundbreaking, unique about a wedding. As for me, if you don't like me as I choose to be, leave me alone. I'll gladly return the favor.
We are down to a wedding at its most fundamental, some promises to love and stay together forever, devoid of legal standing, religious meaning, pomp and ceremony, and all the other things we've been living fine without for twelve years.
As for the promises, we have made them long ago, and we make them and keep them every day in our actions, our eyes, our words. No ceremony could satisfactorily symbolize or encapsulate that.