Dear Second Marriage,
I think maybe I’m not supposed to talk to you, or about you, and probably not in an open forum. I saw some cringe as they read the salutation of this letter. It could be easier to let people assume that this is my first marriage, but I don’t want that. Second marriage, I’m proud of you, and I’m proud of the role I play in you.
Am I a failure because it took me two tries to suss out how a marriage is supposed to work? Should I be ashamed that it took me another go-round to figure out the role I’m supposed to play? I spend all day telling students it’s OK to fail — that is how we learn. But I often feel hesitant to take that advice to heart. An acknowledgment of you means an acknowledgment of all the ways I failed the first time. I’m well aware of the statistics on you, second marriage. We are even more likely to fail than a first marriage because, to summarize the hundreds of internet articles on the subject, we have even more complexities than does a first marriage, with even less of the “glue” that can hold together a shaky union.
But I’ve learned a lot in the preparations for you and even more in the past year. It turns out that love involves more trips to the vet, meaningful eye contact over a small child’s head, nights asleep by 9, and dinners slapped together from miscellaneous, quasi-edible items than I would have suspected. It turns out that marriage involves a million moments in which one feels held together at the end of a long day by nothing more than mere threads. And then, you look at the woman recaulking the tub and realize she is the glue — and that you’re actually held together by love. And most importantly, you realize it is true love — not the idea of love, but of a love built on hard work and mindful partnership.
Second marriage, you are the opposite of glamorous, made even more so by the fact that there is a custody schedule to juggle. I know you have to withstand the fact that sometimes I am overwhelmed by sadness when our son is at his other house. But it turns out that a good marriage makes you an infinitely better parent. The more energy I used pretending to be happy, the less energy I had to play and dance and sing. Now used to receiving patience and kindness, I can parent with patience and kindness.
I’m sure there are a lot of you reading this and thinking, This could be a letter to my first marriage; I know these things and have this now. If that’s you, congratulations! Don’t take it for granted for even a moment. Lean in and love and cherish as hard as you can. Be generous with your praise and with your time for each other. Be slow to anger and quick to forgive. Be silent in your needless criticism and loud in your laughter.
But that brings me back to where I began. For some of us, it takes two tries to figure it out. It takes a spectacularly public failure to find our joy. Some of us will lose those we thought were friends (and a million other things) along the way to finding happiness. Nevertheless, I am aware every day that I have gained more than I’ve lost and that I am a better person now than I ever have been. And that’s why I write to you, second marriage. It is because of you and what you’ve given me. I have found joy amongst the judgment, the complexities, the ambiguities, and I am not ashamed to say so.
And I see you, other people’s second marriages, and this is a letter to you, too. We don’t all get it right the first time around, and there is no shame in that. But we can get it right this time, and we will. Statistics be damned.
