Yesterday’s post on the couple who met while married to others, fell in love, left their spouses, got married, and then had the whole thing written up in the NY Times generated a lot of chat in the comments section on this blog. And many of the commenters predicted that their new and “improved” marriage will have a very short duration.
The odds are that this is correct: statistics on second marriages are not good, with 60% of them ending in divorce, a higher percentage than first marriages. And it stands to reason, doesn’t it? The people involved have sometimes—as in the case of our Times second-time-around lovers—demonstrated their propensity to have affairs. What’s more, even if no infidelity has been involved in the dissolution of the first marriage, those in second marriages have already learned that, whatever grief they may have endured in the first breakup, life went on and love entered the scene again.
But I’ve seen a lot of divorces and remarriages over my lifetime, and a number of the people I know have had an experience roughly similar to that of the Times featured couple, without the publicity. That is, they had an affair while married to one person and then divorced that spouse and married their lover. Perhaps the people I know are an atypical bunch, but all of those second marriages have endured for several decades so far, and look to be on track to endure till death do them part.
I’m not one to advocate this course of action. I certainly think affairs are wrong, and I’m proud to say that while I was married I never had one. But too many times I’ve seen people trapped in deeply unhappy marriages contracted when young and foolish, to a person with whom they had little in common emotionally or otherwise. And then I’ve seen that person meet another with whom they shared so much—including not just sexual attraction, but joy and companionship and interests—and visibly blossomed in that person’s company.
Was there grief and pain, especially for those innocents, the children? Yes, absolutely. Was that grief and pain worse for those children than they would have endured had the original bad marriages continued? I don’t know, but I don’t necessarily think so. Were the first spouses hurt? You bet, although several of them (not all) have remarried and seem quite happy now.
Do we have a “right” to happiness? Not exactly; not a right. But we are constructed to pursue it, especially in matters so deeply personal, and many of us will do so no matter what the moralists say.
Divorce is now accepted and commonplace, and those two things go together. Society used to frown far more mightily on divorce, and divorcing couples were therefore often ostracized. This had, as one might expect, a chilling effect on the divorce rate. But many people were still unfaithful, and I have no idea whether straying occurred more often or less often back then.
As commenter Tatyana mentioned here, there is a group of John Updike short stories about suburban infidelity, divorce, and remarriage, some of them in the “Maples” series. I read these long ago and have always remembered them because they struck me as reflecting the almost overwhelming complexity of human beings, with their desires and their moral dilemmas, their passions and their guilt. Although Updike was apparently using his own life as model, he was hard on the lovers and compassionate to those left behind, those first spouses and the kids, and didn’t whitewash the pain they endured. In the end, as I recall, his remarried lovers often found themselves nostalgic for the family they’d left behind, and laden with a fair amount of regret.
Sometimes we just end up exchanging one problem for another of similar magnitude, sometimes through boredom and inattention and self-centeredness. But sometimes the exchange is for something much much better. And yet we must make our decisions without knowing which one it will be, or how much those we hurt will suffer, or whether in the end they will be happier too (a not-unheard-of result, as well).
Are we just kidding ourselves when we say everything will be all right, and go forward to do what we want to do anyway? After all, life must be lived, and decisions made, without knowing the effect they will ultimately have. Even looking back afterward, with the perspective of years—as I do with my friends, long ensconced in those second marriages—it often can be very difficult to really know the results and to evaluate them. Fortunately or unfortunately, we don’t have matched lives to compare this one with as controls.