On Marriage Through A Different Lens

By Neil Gonsalves | A personal reflection on love and loss

Written by Neil Gonsalves for Seeking Veritas on Substack

(Image by Lukas_Rychvalsky from Pixabay)

“If you spend your life grinding because you think you have to build the perfect future, you will probably achieve almost everything you want, you will surpass the expectations of the past, miss the present and have no one to share the future with” - K.G.

My writing partner and friend Brian Sankarsingh recently published an article about marriage after decades of being together. He discussed the changing tides of time and responsibilities that come as children get older and move on with their lives, as routines and interest change, and as couples get older and find themselves in new stages of life. He has known his wife since they were young and they have spent decades together sharing their lives, raising their children, and supporting each other through this life journey. It is an article that is uplifting and inspiring but also an in your face reminder of what could have been for those of us who have tried and failed.

(You should read his article titled Marriage - Life After 50 here)

I live on the other end of the marriage spectrum. I have failed not once, not twice, but three times at this sacred tradition. As I round the corner towards the age of 50, I have no concept of what a possible happily ever after might look like. Today I’m a man with a note stuck to his health card that reads, “In the event of an emergency, please rescue my dog who is home alone”.

Surpassing The Expectations of the Past

Having grown up in another part of the world, with parents from the immediate post WWII era, I was raised with a seemingly clear sense of purpose albeit a social concept that would be considered out of date today. From the time I arrived in Canada, I felt like I was a generation behind in mindset and disposition.

Over a life time I have internalized and cemented my early socialization; men are providers, stoic and reserved, emotionally constrained with a stiff upper lip, along with all the other stereotypic tropes I’m sure you are all aware about. Yet coming out of high school, I took a job unloading trucks and did not pursue post secondary education. That worked for me for a couple of years and then the internalized pressure to be more kicked in, my attitude and drive kicked in, I remembered the lessons about work ethic and the virtue of struggle. I had to set aside childish things and become a man. The weekend nightclub scene stopped, the sports car sold, it was time to get serious.

I applied myself, attended post secondary at night school, began a career and would grind everyday with a singular focus on being successful. Over the next thirty years I would complete several post secondary programs, become a senior manager at a large publicly traded company, parlay that into a career as a post secondary educator with all the perks of job security, guaranteed pension for life after retirement, and more vacation time than most people can imagine what to do with. But even that wasn’t enough and I was not done, after almost two decades in academia I took on senior management roles, while simultaneously becoming a regular newspaper columnist, an author and a TEDx speaker. I had the house with the pool, the dog, and the overpriced truck I always wanted but didn’t actually need.

The overconfident, uneducated, manual labourer who unloaded trucks at eighteen years old should be so proud of what was achieved with focus and grit. I had surpassed the expectations of the past.

Missing the Present

That thirty year journey was not all sunshine and rainbows, along the way being committed to the hustle and the grind would come with costs. Long work hours, singular focus, and a relentless future orientation didn’t always make me the nicest person to be around. For my part however, I convinced myself that it would all be worth it in the long run. I was sure that my family would benefit from this work ethic and drive, our future selves would see the value of the sacrifices and would reap the dividends of my necessary drive.

Marriage of course was a natural part of the plan. After all, a man provides for his family, he is stoic so as to be calm in crisis, he has a stiff upper lip so adversity can be taken in stride. Being a man, I believed was about service and strength and I liked being the good man in a storm.

I was married once in my twenties, once in my thirties, and once in my forties and learned different things from each of those experiences. My first wife was the kindest person and our marriage was the epitome of companionship built on genuine friendship. We didn’t have much but we had everything we needed and we spent a lot of time doing things that we both enjoyed together. In the fog and folly of youth I believed marriage could be more.

My second wife is the mother of my child, a beautiful boy who I love more than anything in this world. This marriage was the epitome of stability and security. The home in the ideal neighbourhood, the Cadillac, the golden retriever and strolls with the child in his Baby Bjorn. In the fog of ambition I believed marriage could be more.

My third wife is the most intelligent and independent woman I have ever known, she had long ago mastered the art of making the most out of any situation life threw at her. She encouraged me to pursue my dreams, and I can say unequivocally that without her I would have never done the TEDx Talk or become an author. This marriage also gave me step children who I grew to love like my own. During our marriage we went through a global pandemic, major health issues, blending families, starting businesses and realizing passions. Yet despite all the promise and hope that was on offer, my singular focus on the destination rather than the journey prevented me from appreciating the present. I dedicated so much time, energy and effort to creating the ideal future that I missed the opportunities to appreciate where we were and who we were individually. In the fog of perfection I believed marriage could be more.

The self assured, well educated, and well employed man I grew into had missed most of the moments in the present while building the future.

The Future

“A divorce is like an amputation: you survive it, but there’s less of you.” – Margaret Atwood

Today I live on the other end of the marriage spectrum and I’m often the punch line at the end of every marriage joke. I can probably tell you more than you care to know about how Karl Marx thought marriage in bourgeois society was a farce, or why Durkheim viewed marriage as a protective factor against suicide, I could even wax poetic about how romantic love in the Western tradition originated in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. But I probably cannot tell you very much that is useful about being an actual husband. Too often I offered only logic when empathy was required, only solutions when a sounding board was desired, and only analysis when connection was needed.

As I round the corner toward the back nine of life, I take my coffee every morning on the back deck, overlooking the pool where my step-children once swam, my truck on the driveway where two cars once parked, my pension within sight with no one assigned to the survivor benefit. My dog at my feet and my coffee in hand, I can’t help but wonder about that fog I routinely got lost within. It seemed like only yesterday the future was a distant destination and then in a blink of an eye life went by.

I kept wanting more and somewhere along the way I lost sight of the fact that the grind was supposed to have been about family, about having a companion to share your dreams and life with when the rat race ended. I overlooked the obvious, that they were supposed to be cherished and appreciated all the way along that journey towards the golden years.

The remorseful man with bookshelves full of wisdom from generations gone by, with framed pictures of accomplishments, has turned into the person who loved and lost, who now sits alone having pushed away anyone that might have been there in the future.

A Better Masculinity

“Don't gain the world and lose your soul; wisdom is better than silver or gold” - Bob Marley

Wisdom came at a higher price than I had ever planned for, because when the music stopped, the temporal constraints of this world had removed the do-over option. A wistful smile often sneaks through when I think about the numerous times I confidently proclaimed, “anyone can do the good days, it the hard days that matter” - Who knew the skill it took to appreciate the good days, not me to be certain. Turns out the purpose of the grind was never to leave behind silver and gold to people who never had a chance to know you.

As I look at my son, I know that I have to redefine masculinity. The best answers to life’s biggest questions will be determined by the quality of the questions we ask ourselves. Chiefly, what was my participatory role? And what can I learn from it that will allow me to keep moving forward in a positive manner. In the end all we can control is our own actions and our own reactions to things we encounter.

The world doesn’t need just calm men in the storm, it also needs good men who know how to navigate the seas when the waters are calm because that is where the living happens. That is where companionship develops, family is forged, and supportive partners share dreams and aspirations.

Here’s to the beautiful ideal of marriage, with utmost respect to those skilled enough to make it work and wise enough to live in the present and appreciate the presence of those who really matter.

About the author: Neil Gonsalves is an Indian-born Canadian immigrant who grew up in Dubai, U.A.E. and moved to Canada in 1995. He is an Ontario college educator, a TEDx speaker, an author and columnist, a recreational dog trainer and an advocate for new immigrant integration and viewpoint diversity.

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