As my wedding day approached, Mark nonchalantly remarked, “Well, if things don’t work out, we can always get divorced.” I nodded in agreement, as if we were simply discussing a risky dish on a menu—no big deal, we could always send it back. His proposal, birthed from an ultimatum, felt more like a chore than a celebration; it lacked the enthusiasm typically associated with such a monumental occasion.
Let me clarify—Mark was an undeniably good guy. Here’s a glimpse into his character:
When my mother was diagnosed with advanced colon cancer, Mark, despite his anxiety behind the wheel, took it upon himself to drive us through the Holland Tunnel and across several highways to West Virginia. He picked up prescriptions, drove us to chemotherapy sessions, and even bought dinners for the family. My parents were living in a post office at that time (a tale for another day), and Mark accepted this quirky situation without a hint of complaint, even balancing on stacks of mail catalogs while eating yams. Occasionally, curious postal customers would peek at him from behind the mailboxes, and he would cheerfully wave his fork in greeting.
Once my mother completed her most grueling treatment, Mark and I rented an RV for a trip to West Virginia since there was no space for us in the post office. We invited some friends for a Memorial Day pig roast—a gathering that Mark certainly did not enjoy. As a New Yorker and a chronic insomniac, he would have preferred to indulge in Thai food and catch a film at the local art house rather than camp out in an RV surrounded by the great outdoors.
The adventure took a chaotic turn when we returned the RV late at night. After examining the rental agreement, I noted that the sewage tank valves needed to be left open. I felt confident since a friendly trucker had assisted us earlier in emptying the tanks. However, when Mark twisted the valves, a horrified scream escaped his lips. I peeked through the window and was met with an unspeakable sight. What we thought was a completed task turned out to be a disaster, as the trucker had been in a hurry and had not finished the job.
“The tanks are not empty,” Mark muttered through gritted teeth, as I braced myself for the hefty fees we might incur for leaving a foul mess in the parking lot. In a moment of desperation, he grabbed a piece of cardboard from the trunk, attempting to scoop the mess, but it was futile—more suited for cake icing than waste disposal. Eventually, he resorted to using plastic bags as makeshift gloves, scooping up the remnants and tossing them into the trees.
When another RV pulled into the lot, Mark held his hands, encased in plastic, like a guilty party caught in the act. Luckily, the newcomers seemed oblivious to our predicament and parked nearby without a second glance. Remarkably, Mark never once complained about the pig roast he dreaded, the long drive he detested, or the ensuing chaos.
Around this time, Lori Gottlieb’s article “Marry Him! The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough” caught my attention, urging women to lower their standards for the sake of companionship. While I wasn’t directly influenced by her words, the pressure of being 33 and unmarried weighed heavily on me. It led me to commit to what was, in many ways, a good relationship—we loved each other, he was intelligent and considerate, and he even cleaned up after a sewage disaster without a single complaint. But beneath the surface, our relationship had cracks: Mark didn’t want marriage or children, nor did he wish to abandon his precarious creative pursuits. Yet, I rationalized that a decent relationship was better than being alone. So, I pushed for a proposal.
Our wedding day was less exhilarating than our RV escapade. It took us five long months to settle on a date, and as we stood before the clerk at City Hall, I felt a tumult of embarrassment and resentment—like I had won a contest only because the other party had let go of the rope.
We tied the knot in May and spent a brief honeymoon upstate, which felt about as exciting as dealing with an insurance claim post-car accident. Our time was marked by a painful awareness of the underlying discontent; I felt as if I were in a slow-motion trauma, recalling every detail of our walks around the lake, akin to waiting in a hospital for a loved one to pass away.
Mark, too, was not thrilled; he had entered into this marriage reluctantly and now faced a disheartened wife in the passenger seat, picking at lint and pretending to engage with the radio. Returning to Brooklyn was a relief for both of us.
Statistics reveal a troubling imbalance in the dating landscape: 91 men for every 100 women in the U.S. The response to this issue often reflects a societal tendency to blame women for their circumstances, suggesting they merely seek a financial provider rather than a genuine connection. This narrative, while prevalent, overlooks the complexities of desire and partnership.
Gottlieb’s urging for women to settle for subpar marriages rather than remain single is a disheartening sentiment, one that even she could not fully endorse. Discussions around settling often evoke a backlash against women, particularly those in their peak career years, as noted in Susan Faludi’s influential work, Backlash.
The ultimatum I presented Mark ultimately sealed our fate. Instead of a calm discussion over breakfast, we found ourselves in turmoil, grappling with emotions that had been long suppressed. Two months post-wedding, we had the conversation we should have had years earlier, leading to a painful but necessary separation. Mark moved back into his own apartment—one he hadn’t given up in six years—within a day, and it felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
In the weeks that followed, I began to embrace the idea of dating again, excitement bubbling within me as I purchased new clothes and makeup—my only fear being that I wouldn’t find someone in time to start a family.
Shortly thereafter, I met a man at a gathering who caught my eye—a charming musician and teacher. Our connection deepened quickly, and within a month, he expressed his desire for marriage and children. We tied the knot at 35 and welcomed our first child at 36, followed by another at 39. He brings joy to my everyday life, and I find myself enjoying the smallest moments with him more than I ever thought possible.
Navigating parenthood is more challenging than I’d anticipated, especially without nearby family support. For helpful insights on handling various challenges, including the heat during pregnancy, you can explore resources like this article.
If you’re considering starting your family, you might also find this resource beneficial for understanding pregnancy and home insemination.
Ultimately, my journey has taught me that settling for “good enough” isn’t what we should strive for; instead, pursuing genuine connection and mutual desires in a partnership is essential for true happiness.
Summary
The author reflects on her past decision to marry a man who was “good enough” and how that led to feelings of regret and dissatisfaction. After enduring a tumultuous marriage, she ultimately finds fulfillment with a partner who shares her goals and aspirations.