The Immutable Marriage.

The subject of our archaic system of marriage came up again this week. It was on a LinkedIn post I’d written about the blockchain solutions I need to see. In the comments section emerged a discussion about the current state of marriage contracts (til death do us part <eye roll>) and the possibilities of blockchain.

What if we could use immutable ledgers to enter into marriage contracts? We currently (save the pre-nup) co-mingle everything from childcare to housework to finances and property with a singular piece of paper given to us by the state and with zero guidance of how to distribute anything. Divorce contracts are far more comprehensive than marriage certificates. Why?

Marriage was originally an institution to purposefully reassign power and lands and property. Then someone had the genius idea to turn marriage over to the paupers and let love get involved. Which is fine, but then, why use an archaic system that was derived for material ownership?

It’s (beyond) time to rethink the way of marriage contracts. At the beginning.

The concept of marriage as a “forever” contract is lunacy. How can we possibly — as a 20-year-old — choose who we’re going to spend the rest of our lives with?

We can’t even commit to a house for more than 30 years. Most people enter into a mortgage knowing that they can get out at any time, they can sell, refinance, start renting.

But the most critical contract of our life gets locked in when we’re in our most formative years. Could you imagine if you couldn’t renegotiate your first job, your first loan, your first address, your first sexual experience?

Marriages for love have been contracted the wrong way. The idea that we can effectively choose our life partner — the person who we’ll still match when we’re 30, 40, 60, 80 — is naive.

As we’ve moved away from marriages for the purpose of titles and property, we’ve also started living longer as a species, become more mobile, more connected, more versatile. Yet, we’ve kept our most intimate relationship from adapting and growing with us. Why?

Fear. This is a very fearful subject; I get it. (As I’m writing, I can nearly feel the projection of your fear as I connect with you while you read these words in the future.) It’s a scary prospect, the un-permanence of a marriage contract. For better or worse, right; richer/poorer; sickness and in health; please don’t make me do the dating scene ever again?

But it’s a myth, the permanence.

Divorces happen, affairs happen, we change, we grow, we evolve. We become different versions of the people we were when we got married. Both of us. All of us. That’s how evolution works, we evolve… and not always in the same direction. Rarely can two people, who seemed so perfect for each other in the beginning, evolve in the same direction. (I have so many thoughts on this trajectory, the reason we don’t, the omissions that seem harmless in the beginning.)

Full disclosure: I’ve been married twice, divorced twice. I got married 2 weeks before my 21st birthday to my high school sweetheart. He cheated on me with his assistant for 18 months and had sex with dozens of women he met at the bar we owned. Back then, that was a deal-breaker for me, so I divorced him after almost 9 years of marriage. (Funny, our wedding date was yesterday!) I was single for a year, then dated and remarried. Second marriage lasted 9 years (that’s apparently my threshold).

If I were smart, I’d start doing leases. A 9-year lease. Maybe a 7-year. Then everyone knows what they’re getting into with me. I’m not agreeing to the rest of my life.

But I will give you the next 7 years. All in. Everything I have. Seven years. And you’ll know I’m giving my all because I want my “security deposit” back. I’m not going to trash the place, leave holes in the walls, never mow the lawn or fix the shower head for 7 years. I’m going to care and contribute and engage.

For seven years.

And then we can renegotiate the lease; re-up it if we want to, go our separate ways if it’s not working for us.

And how will my spouse behave if he knows that I have the clause in our lease that I’ll either renew or not? Will he be a good “landlord,” will he skimp on the water heater, or will he give me his best so I’ll want to stay? Will he replace the rotting carport or let it fall? Will he contribute to discussions, share his worries and fears, engage, care?

Will a lot of leases not get renewed? Probably.

Will more care be spent on the front end, ensuring a new level of compatibility, knowing that to find a lessor and lessee that will want to renew in 7 years will be more difficult than locking them in with a lifetime mortgage? Perhaps.

I’m willing to commit.

In bursts.

Because I’ve come to know myself. At my age I know how long it takes me to work my way through a lifecycle and into my next evolution — nine years. The last thing I want is to do my mate a disservice of promising that I will always/forever/until eternity be able to love/honor/obey when I know damn good and well that I cannot speak for the woman I will be in 10 years, let alone the version of her who will own this space when I’m 65.

…I might as well try and tell you who’ll be sitting in this chair 20 years from now, on a Tuesday morning, drinking coffee with this view.