In case moving in with someone I’d known all of a week and considering uprooting my life for him weren’t sufficiently certifiable things to do, I found a way to up the insanity ante.
I decided I was also going to marry him.
Five months later, that seems like the most ridiculous thing I have ever contemplated in my entire life. Even more preposterous than moving to the Sunshine State, which was understandable considering I was avoiding one of the most wicked winters New York has ever known.
But marriage? Becoming betrothed has always been glaringly absent from my list of ambitions. I am the queen of the honeymoon phase. I love the magic of first kisses and the ability to see someone as he truly is, not as I am.
Love isn’t blindness; it’s the ability to see another clearly through the eyes of the soul, beyond personality and projection. The blindness part sets in when we start seeing through the lens of ego, and the illusion of separation forces one to become two again.
Once my ego gets hold of the reins, it tends to steer me in the exact opposite direction of my relationships. But it seemed like a good time to change that. I’d noticed an unsurprising trend in my unions – a few of the same issues kept coming up.I wanted to explore and clear the patterns that were creating this.
I was editing a novel about relationships with personal development overtones. Wasn’t it time to stick around when things got a little uncomfortable with one of my own?
I decided that no matter what happened, I was going to see this relationship through. I trusted in my ability to primarily focus on the good in this man, since there was just so much of it, and the higher purpose of our connection. I trusted we were both evolved enough to support one another through our challenges and get through them together.
But that wasn’t actually what inspired me to offer to marry him, which would never have crossed my mind under ordinary circumstances.
He already had my love; the next logical step seemed to be providing another priceless gift: the prospect of a green card.
I knew how tough his life had been and how much he’d struggled since coming to this country. I couldn’t imagine life without the rights I take for granted here. I had the power to make life easier for him and his son and even if we didn’t last forever as a couple, I figured we’d always be friends.
I could think of no good reason not to do this, other than the completely obvious ones – like the fact that I’d known him all of about eight seconds. Still. Not offering would have felt like owning a castle and not living in it, but not letting anyone else stay there either.
We were fittingly enjoying a romantic dinner at a restaurant from his country of origin when the inspiration arrived. I expressed my offer instantaneously, before I had a chance to think myself out of it.
Like a child who has received the exact present he’s always wanted on Christmas, his face lit up. His eyes filled with moisture, presumably tears of joy. But then his expression went blank and he began to nervously play with a straw wrapper.
“I have something to confess,” he said, his eyes avoiding the piercing gaze of mine.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it.
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