Loving another person takes moral courage because long after the pheromones have worn off what we are left with is an imperfect soul struggling through life as much as you are.
After the honeymoon is over, the challenge of what love truly means is left behind like a mission begging us to complete it.
I understand all too well today that the perfect person for us doesn't exist but the one we end up with and keep should be someone we admire; someone who makes us want to be a better person
In that sense, a marriage is less about the fairy tale of movies and more about the daily work of supporting each other through the invariable realities of life.
In other words, our higher values should be aligned never mind the small divergences in habits which can over time cause us increased irritation.
Real love is hard.
By the late 19th century we had created a bourgeoisie portrait of something which for the longest time had been a contract sometimes even by expected obligation: a coupling in which each partner gave up a piece of themselves to support the other.
That idyllic portrait didn't even work for the rich despite what Jane Austen and Lord Byron so eloquently tried to sell us.
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