My partner Mark and I introduced "Bob" and "Jim" at a dinner
party at our place. Bob, 31, is recently out of the closet, and
Jim, 27, just returned to the U.S. after living overseas for four
years. We weren't trying to play matchmaker when we invited them,
though the idea occurred to me as the party approached, and we
rearranged the seating right before dinner to maximize their
interaction.
That was two weeks ago. They've been inseparable since.
Young love is delightful, amusing, and-let's admit
it-occasionally annoying. Delightful, because it reminds us of the
simple joys in life. Amusing, because it makes grown people act
like kids. Annoying for the same reason.
"Giddy as a schoolgirl," Mark reported after he had lunch with
Jim later that week. "Ditto," I confirmed after checking in with
Bob. To be candid, I was a tad envious. Having been out of the
closet for two decades and in a wonderful relationship for six
years, I am grateful for many gifts. Giddiness, however, seems like
a bygone luxury.
Don't get me wrong: I wouldn't trade what I have. It even has
its giddy moments from time to time. And I'm certainly thrilled for
my young friends. Yet I know I'm not alone in feeling a tinge of
jealously in the face of young romance.
I discussed this feeling with some friends who just celebrated
their 10th anniversary. "Oh yeah, I know what you mean," one
answered. "The most romantic thing we ever do anymore is share a
flush." He was joking, of course, but the joke pointed to a deeper
truth. Married life carries with it mundane rituals, the
familiarity of which provides comfort. But this comfort comes at
the cost of suspense, and thus a measure of excitement.
Part of the reason Bob and Jim are so giddy right now is that
they mutually wonder "Does he really like me?" and then thrill at
every affirmative indication. How joyous to expose oneself to
another and have the risk rewarded with tenderness.
I don't wonder anymore whether Mark really likes me. I know he
loves me, and vice-versa. A cynic would say that we're "taking each
other for granted," and in one sense, that's true: part of the
value of marriage is the knowledge that someone is there for you,
always. With mutual commitment comes mutual security.
The danger of security, however, is complacency. It starts in
small ways, many of them innocuous. If a person loves you "warts
and all," then you don't feel the need to hide your warts, whatever
form they take. Your unsightly back hair. Your stinky
morning-breath. Your flatulence. Then there are the personality
flaws you took pains to suppress during the courtship: your short
temper, your constant tardiness, your fondness for Celine Dion.
Soon, you don't even bother to conceal your vices, much less
suppress them. You get lazy.
And thus you lose one of the great virtues of relationships:
they encourage us to be better people. Initially, because we want
to impress the other. Eventually, because we know they deserve
it.
So as much as I envy Bob and Jim's honeymoon phase, I also take
a lesson from it. Mark deserves my effort at least as much as Jim
and Bob deserve each other's, as easy as it is to forget that in
practice.
The good news is that ordinary things-done consistently over
time-can make a big impact. Clearing the dishes even though it's
his turn. Bringing home some of his favorite chocolates. Calling
just to say hello. These events form the warp and weft of our
relationships, our lives. I'm reminded of them every time our
enemies try to reduce homosexuality to a "lifestyle." Loving
someone is not a "lifestyle."
Similarly dismissive is our opponents' tendency to refer to
"what homosexuals do in bed."
"My partner and I have been together over 25 years," an older
gay friend recently remarked. "We do what most older couples do in
bed. We sleep." He meant it as a punch-line, but it's no joke:
sleeping with someone-not just next to someone, but with
someone, for a quarter century-is an intimate and beautiful thing,
morning-breath notwithstanding.
In this sense, it's good to "take someone for granted." That
doesn't mean you stop valuing them. On the contrary, you learn that
valuing goes beyond passive appreciation: it's an active
commitment. You learn that love is not (or not merely) what you
feel; it's what you do. You do it even when it feels mundane,
which-if you're lucky-it eventually sometimes will.
John Corvino's "What's Morally Wrong with Homosexuality?" is
now available on
DVD.