North Star Writers Group

First, I now type with a ring on my finger, which genuinely looks odd. The ring is normal enough. It’s a size too large so the unsaturated fat from the Cheetos I like to eat will always have some living space, but aside from that, it’s perfectly ordinary. Of course, I am quite certain it threw off my balance tonight at the driving range, because there is no other explanation for the inability of the balls I was hitting to reach the grass before ricocheting off the wooden wall I was facing.

Also, it feels funny. Imagine living in a nudist colony your entire life and then suddenly being thrown into a culture such as ours, where clothes are actually required in most workplaces. The new dressings would feel completely inappropriate. This is how my left “ring” finger feels. I can’t help wondering if the sheer discomfort of a sizable hunk of metal on one of only two hands is why more than half of American marriages end in divorce. Needless to say, I am not yet used to it, and I often take it off and imagine it were the ring of power. It looks exactly like it, honestly. It seems as though the ring alone was enough to subconsciously convince me that this marriage stuff is actually quite serious.

Second, I am preparing myself for the alleged reality of married life, which everyone says is, “the ol’ ball and chain.” Some consider the early works of great artists their best. The earlier works of the poet W. H. Auden, for example, were considered much more fiery and passionate than his later works. Most of his “greatest poems,” are said to have come from the period of his youth. Johannes Brahms, the composer, wrote some of his most wrenching works when he was younger, and was said to have mellowed considerably, like Auden, in his later years. Age and marriage, most purport, mellow a person. Is this my fate? To be mellowed? I fear I have no great works of art to my name, which suggests that my time for brilliant creativity and expression has passed.

In response, I suggest the following – which is not based on my experience, or even observation aside from my personal preference for the later works of most of my favorite artists, including both Auden and Brahms: In my naivete, I cling to the hope that the greatest love is not discovered in budding romance, but in the deep security of knowing someone who knows you just as well, and in spite of this knowledge, chooses life together as opposed to life alone. The wisdom and experience gained from this love ought to free us from our former delusions, not keep us from them.

Third, I have to wonder, how do parents get all their money, and when they do, why don’t they spend it all on vacations and wine?

Fourth, I have learned that “putting away” your clothes implies that they ought to consistently end up in the same place.

Fifth, I’ve discovered that dishwashers have hands, and sometimes those hands are your own.

Sixth, there is no better way to start a conversation at work than randomly inserting the words, “my wife.” People tend to wear the same rapt expression I wore when I read the headline “I’m gay,” next to the face of Lance Bass. It’s an odd assortment of excitement, pity and the classic Seinfeldian line, “not that there’s anything wrong with that,” and it always leaves me wondering, does this mean we can’t hang out? It’s not as though I can no longer drink as much as the next guy. It’s just that, because of my newfound relationship, which requires a considerable degree of financial responsibility, you’ll have to pay for beers three through six.

And finally, it is indescribably satisfying to wake up next to the same face every morning. I would recommend it to almost anyone.

As I begin to simultaneously mellow and become inflated with the richness of marital wisdom, I realize that this may be the last of my youthful, naïve and impassioned columns. I will get used to my ring, and my golf game has nowhere to go but up. It is a rather awkward time of transition, but I must say, there is no one with whom I’d rather spend it than my wife.

(Seriously, I’d still love to hang out.)

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This is Column # NS19. Request permission to publish here.