Susan Piver - The Hard Questions: 100 Questions to Ask Before You Say I Do

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W hen my husband, Duncan, asked me to marry him I immediately tried to break up with him. We had been together five years, through his divorce, my move to another city, career upheavals, a hostile ex-spouse and a hurt, loving young son. I loved this man. I adored our relationship. But I couldnt imagine promising to love himor anyonefor the rest of my life. How could such a thing be possible? Every relationship I had ever had up to this point, romantic or otherwise, showed me that feelings change .

With great trepidation, I suggested a month of separation to think things over. I went into an intense period of reflection. Wasnt I meant to be an adventurer, a seeker of truth, a lover of men, a captain of industry, all in this lifetime? How could these things mesh with being a wife? How could I follow my heart and soul and still guarantee to love this one, single, solitary man, with all his uniquely glorious, utterly divine, loveable ways and his awful, hateful qualities? For all his wonder, he still had only one brain. One spirit. One body. Would they do? For life?

Upon further reflection, I realized I was holding some fairly bitter assumptions about commitment. Somehow, I believed that once married, I would simply cease living on a certain level. While till now I had been free to roam the earth as my home, marriage would be like confining myself to one room. And someone else would hold the key. No! Never! Not ever! This compromise I would not make, not for love or money or threats of a lonely old age.

After our month apart, after these thoughts and realizations, Duncan and I got together for the weekend. I was ready to lay it all out, without expectation of any particular outcome. I made some speech about how he could never expect me to be a traditional wife, about my commitment to independence and refusal to conform to any external rule of behavior. He listened with complete openness and then, in response, gave me a little box shaped like a heart. Inside it were a rock and a feather. Duncan told me, The rock is me. You are the feather. Fly. Let me be constant and steady. Lets hold it all in one heart. Let us balance each other. It was a beautiful and complex message. I was in awe of himof his ability to be loving, to recognize me, to know himself and, shock of shocks, of his willingness to be in a relationship with me, as I am.

As had happened before in this devoted relationship, my love for Duncan expanded to yet another level I had never imagined possible. For the first time, it dawned on me that perhaps it was possible to marry and that marriage would actually enhance my life, strengthen me. I realized that the fear I had been holding, the fear of not being accepted for who I am, was immense, indescribable. Duncan didnt help me get over that as much as he supported me in recognizing it.

We spent the weekend in a loving cocoon. When we parted, I knew I couldnt leave this man, that I loved him with all of my heart. But still I didnt understand the marriage vow of constancy. And then, after considering and reconsidering our conversation, I came to the simple realization that enabled me to say yes to his proposal, to marriage. I realized that, no matter how much I might love Duncan right now, I couldnt commit to loving him like this for my whole life, or to sustaining any single emotion of any kind toward anyone for the rest of my life. I would be doing him a disservice by suggesting that I could.

But what I could commit to, what I longed to commit to, what I believed I was capable of, was acting lovingly toward him for the rest of my life.

Acting lovingly is a highly complex and mysterious thing. It is not a matter of always being sweet and nice. It means being radically honest: with ourselves, with each other, with life, forever, in every moment, and dealing together with the emotions that may arisebe they love, hate, boredom, jealousy, ecstasy, apathy or any combination thereofwithout leaving. OK, that I could attempt. That I trust. That is a noble endeavor, full of grace. That is worth a lifetime of commitment. And, for me, that is the key to passion.

This book is for anyone desiring a lasting marriage, who also wants an honest relationshipand is willing to commit to such honesty above all else, beyond even love. My belief is that this may be the only kind of relationship that can succeed, that can weather the storms and withstand the coves, that can be ardent and secure, all at once.

After my crisis of faith in love, marriage and self, after deciding to marry, all sorts of demonic thoughts began to poke at me: What if Duncan wants to live somewhere I hate? What if I wish we had ten times more money than he wishes for? Is he really OK having another child, or was he just saying so? What if he becomes enamored of someone else? In another fit of insecurity and doubt, I wrote these questions down. The list grew. As I wrote, I realized that there was a third presence in our relationship, that it wasnt just he and I, and that this entity was the thing that could cause our marriage to failnot any lack of love, passion or agreement about what the marriage commitment should be.

This entity? Our life together. The thing that we would create to house our love. As I pondered this, as I remembered past relationships, I realized that it was never lack of love that caused the relationships to fail, it was dislike of the life my partner and I had created together. I love him but I dont love our life together. How many times had I said this to myself? I didnt want this to happen to Duncan and me. Did I really know how this man specifically envisioned his life? His home? My relationship to his son? His relationship to my parents? Our bank account? No, I had to admit. I had only assumptions and hints.

The questions continued to come. I wrote them down. And one by one, Duncan and I answered them, together. Some questions took days to answer. Some took a moment. Others had no answer, and that in itself was important. In every case, we learned something about our relationship and each other. We were delighted, appalled, infuriated and/or mystified by each others answers. Answering these questions was an extraordinarily fruitful and bonding experience for us. The questions took us everywhere, from the cold, gray heart of disagreement and misunderstanding to the sweet, warm belly of loving intimacy. When we stood up together in our marriage ceremony, we knew, as much as we were able, what we were saying and who we were saying it to. When I looked into Duncans eyes and said I would be his wife, I felt it was the most honest promise I had ever made, one offered from the very center of my heart, directly into his.