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4. Because You Can Still Have the Ring

When one of my friends turned 40, she registered for a bunch of household items and threw herself an unbridal shower. At first, I thought this seemed weird and kind of selfish, but then it hit me: I'd never begrudged my betrothed friends their waffle irons, blenders and cute, little sugar spoons. Why should I want any less for my unmarried friends? For that matter, why not want these things for myself? Not housewares, exactly, but those aspects of marriage rituals—be they weddings or anniversaries—that do resonate with me. Because it turned out, after my boyfriend and I had been together five years, I found myself yearning for something surprisingly traditional: a tangible symbol of our connection, something I could have with me at all times, something I could touch. I shyly announced I'd like a ring, and he went out and found me a beauty. It looks like fairies made it from twigs and moonlight: tiny and bumpy with little specks that wink in the sun.

5. Because You Can Break Up

My boyfriend and I have been together 10 years now, and whenever we've hit an especially rocky patch (as all couples do) it's been a relief to know there's nothing holding us together except our desire to make it work. We're at liberty to break up in an instant if things become unbearable. What sweet, paradoxically empowering knowledge this is! During our saddest, ugliest, most hopeless moments, I have taken comfort in this fact, which has given me the willingness to re-dedicate myself to us.

6. Because You Can Always Get Married Next Year. Or the Next. Or the Year After That.

I'm no anti-marriage crusader. And this isn't an injunction; it's just a list. I was married once, and the truth is, my boyfriend and I haven't ruled out getting married someday. We're not sure what might prompt us to desire legal accreditation, but we remain open to the possibility. In a way, that's the whole point: remaining open. Both in our attitude toward marriage and in our relationship itself, we hope to stay open, to be continually receptive to ideas, to thoughts, to feelings, to experiences, to others and to ourselves. It doesn't matter whether you're in a long-term relationship, grieving the end of one, just starting a new romance or contentedly flying solo: None of us knows what the future will hold. And so we let ourselves move forward into it, clear-eyed about the limits of our certainty and invigorated by the adventure.



I Don't Know Leah Hager Cohen is the author of I Don't Know: In Praise of Admitting Ignorance (Except When You Shouldn't) and The Grief of Others.


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