Recently I was talking with a friend who is committed to her marriage. I think I can even say she is more committed now than she was when she said "I do'. That is in part because her love for her husband has grown, but also because of the stress she feels from watching marriages around her shrivel up.
She told me that she has a litmus test for making decisions.
"Does it support us staying together?"
When faced with the conveyor belt of choices endemic in life on planet earth, she asks this clarifying question. It has a way of sifting out the extraneous details, vying for our attention.
Do we move or stay where we are?
Do I send my kids to this school or that one?
Do we go out or stay home with the kids?
The question is like the engineer at the train tracks in the last century, who had the power to send cars either to the left or to the right. At the flip of his switch he could alter the direction of a steaming locomotive barreling through at a hundred miles an hour carrying as many passengers only dimly aware of their own bearings.
Her priority is not about the money, or the prestige, impressing the neighbors or fitting in. It is about her marriage.
She and her husband went away for the weekend last fall. She orchestrated child care far in advance, and chose a place to go. Still she felt like the destination did not matter much.
"We could stay in a cardboard box in Philly, just so we were together."
I admire her clarity. The world tugs on us in a thousand ways, imploring us for time, resources and loyalty. Yet this clarion call keeps her headed toward the goal she holds most dear.
