It's been a month since Valentine's Day, my last big effort to reignite something of substance with Rob, to save us from demise due to indifference.
Rob and I never celebrated Valentine's Day, even in the best of times. We just weren't interested in forced romanticism, we said. Instead, we named it "New Leaf Day," and each year endeavored to turn one over in our relationship.
As the rest of the world chose stock-in-trade overtures in form of chocolate, flowers, and extravagant meals, we acknowledged each other mindfully and with awareness to our true situation. We dealt in cards promising support and small gifts of gratitude for the other's contribution to the troubled relationship.
Until this year. I made Rob dinner, wrote him a card with a sincere pledge of effort to improve our situation, and presented him with a Buddha statue in the Earth Witness Position, fingertips to the ground in recognition of the here and now.
I read Lori Gottlieb's buzz-worthy Atlantic Monthly article "Marry Him!" with a sinking heart. Her thesis that older singletons hoping for motherhood should settle for Mr. Good Enough seems dangerous.
Yes, it's silly to wait for an ideal Mr. Right who doesn't exist. Yes, you and your child will have the immeasurable benefit of a participating father. Yes, you get a co-manager in the maintenance of your home and lifestyle. But you must be sure the price at which you procured these things for yourself was right. And you have to be certain you are capable of living with your decision.
Worse than remaining partnerless — and now I'm talking as someone who did what Ms. Gottlieb suggests and regrets it — you could find yourself spending days, months, years in secret agony wondering, is my husband indeed Good Enough or not? Do I ignore the needs he cannot meet, perhaps forgoing them for the rest of my life? Do I just need to focus on settling my mind as I did my life? Or perhaps, am I worth a bit more than I bargained for?
Rob and I met through a married couple — let's call them the Foils — just over a decade ago. After a couple years of casual friendship, and for the second time in the same wedding season, we found ourselves dateless, drunk, and seated next to each other at the Foils' wedding reception.
Looking back in my less-than-positive mood of the moment, our courtship, wedding, and the subsequent breakdown of our marriage seem as inevitable as our hook-up that night.
As a couple, the Foils were born of much more innocent circumstances: They were high school sweethearts. After a few years as young urban professionals, and soon after introducing me to Rob, they moved back to their small hometown to be near their support system as they built a family.
Four kids in, their lives are busy and unpredictable, but there's no question they have cultivated a secure household full of love and laughter.
I'm nearing my mid-thirties and have been married for four years to a smart, kind man who was once a great lover and more, but who rapidly devolved into only a very good friend with whom I play house (one cat, no children).
These days we eat, clean, and organize our daily lives together nicely, but we have no sex, no plans to have children, and we avoid spending time with each other's families.
I'm painfully bored, depressed, and feel helpless to effect change. I wonder: Should I stay or should I go? It is far from obvious to me. I have nothing dramatic of which to accuse Rob, nor him of me-no cheating, no abuse, no significant neglect.
There are no grounds on which I could stomp out feeling assured I'm doing the right thing. We're just a bored couple who probably jumped too quickly into marriage.
Given the lack of clear-cut problems or safety concerns, you might say that I'd be crazy to leave a well-meaning husband. That I should stay put and be thankful for what I've got. That I should work harder. But one woman's Prince Charming is another's Mr. Wrong. Right?
