A Patchwork Life

Like many children of the seventies, my husband and I have both seen our parents divorce and marry new spouses, sometimes more than once. I assume that, like us, there are many other children of divorce who find themselves searching for models of marriage, whether it’s the unconventional (like a parent’s second or third marriage that turns out to be the happiest) or pop-cultural (the Weasleys, the Bartletts, the Ingalls). On the subject of marriage, there were two NYT articles recently that resonated with me: one on the new Nora Ephron movie, Julie and Julia and another, a Modern Love column about a woman who heard the dreaded, “I don’t love you anymore” from her husband, but didn’t let it end their marriage.

First, the piece about Ephron. I didn’t know that she was married to Nicholas Pileggi, author of the books on which Goodfellas and Casino were based, but I had recently read her novel Heartburn, so I knew why people were surprised to see such a happy marital tale from her. I also recently read both books her new movie was based on, and it’s true: both books tell tales of happy, funny, authentic, fulfilling marriages. In describing Ephron and Pileggi’s marriage, a friend of theirs says, “I’m always amazed at how excited each of them is to see the other and how they have managed to remain both interesting and interested,” which struck me as such a great description. I am definitely still extremely interested in what my husband is thinking about the world we live in, and remain excited and intrigued by him, and I think he by me. I think most of us want marriages with supportive mates, laughter, sparkling conversation and great food, and maybe even have them, seven or eight years in, but maintaining one of them over decades (22 years for Ephron and Pileggi) is a major undertaking.

The “decades” question also gets addressed in Laura Munson’s “Modern Love” column, where her husband of two decades and two children turns to her and says, “I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did. I’m moving out. The kids will understand. They’ll want me to be happy.” Even just the thought of my husband saying those words to me is like a sharp knife, but Munson reacts with unbelievable calm and continues to do so, allowing her husband to essentially act like a bratty teenager for the next six months until he feels ready and reconciled to being part of the family again.

I think it would be easy to dismiss her account– there’s some squishy spiritual woo-woo action that is a little tough to take for the cynical among us, and the column makes no mention of infidelity, which is often around the corner in these situations. But when Munson asks her husband, “What can we do to give you the distance you need, without hurting the family?” and he responds with disbelief, I started to see her point a little more. My husband and I, an extrovert married to an introvert, long ago accepted that we both need breaks, time away to be completely alone or to be with friends or to pursue interests that have nothing to do with our family life. And while six months is quite a break, the idea of letting there be spaces in your togetherness, to grow not in each other’s shadow is valid too. If her husband was truly seeking a break, time to indulge himself in behavior that might seem selfish but that helped him feel more committed to their family, then Munson seems validated in her side of things. But the bravery of her position, when she had no idea how it would turn out or what might be beneath it all, is harder for me to envision. Perhaps it’s the divorce legacy again, or my own personality, or a lack of the requisite spiritual faith, I’m not sure.

Maybe it’s just me, but I can see both these ideas, though less sexy than lingerie and trickier than more traditional roles, being useful and fruitful for anyone trying to negotiate the modern marriage.