Vachon Imagined

Going into marriage is a bit like walking into Dodger Stadium already knowing which side you’re cheering for—and it is absolutely not the Giants. There’s a sense of imagined absolutism there, though slightly less philosophical and more “please don’t let me regret this forever.”

Marriage works like that in theory: you pick a side, you commit, you wear the jersey. In practice, it’s more like discovering halfway through the game that your seat is next to someone who loudly explains baseball rules you thought were universally understood.

Even with the best premarital counseling and long nights of “deep conversations,” you don’t really find out what you signed up for until the paperwork is done and the rings are firmly pressed on each other’s fingers like tiny golden receipts.

One person marries for the power-couple image—Beyoncé and Jay-Z energy, coordinated excellence, curated Instagram lighting.

The other marries for cozy philosophical evenings—Descartes with blankets, candles, and emotionally available discourse.

“Equally yoked,” as I once heard in church many moons ago (when I still went—no judgment, just observation), sounds beautiful in theory. In practice, it’s mostly a hopeful slogan printed on greeting cards and occasionally used to justify extremely confident decision-making.

Because here’s the truth: he doesn’t know all of me. I don’t know all of him. And at some point you’re both just sitting there thinking, maybe silently, maybe loudly, what in the ever-loving hell did I just do?

But then something interesting happens.

When two people learn to actually appreciate their differences—without turning the relationship into a renovation project led by a motivational speaker or a preacher trying to make sure nobody looks behind the curtain—marriage starts to work.

Not because it becomes perfect.

But because it stops pretending to be.

Is it undying love? Yes. But not the cinematic, algorithm-friendly version.

It ebbs and flows like everything else in life. One day you’re deeply in love. The next day you’re reorganizing your entire understanding of commitment while quietly googling “is it illegal to move to another state without telling anyone.”

It’s just marriage—flaws and all, ups and downs.

And somehow, love is still there, whether you’re actively feeling it or just choosing not to file for emotional bankruptcy that afternoon.