Love is the expedition; we’re the new settlers

Screen Shot 2014-02-02 at 12.11.17 PMLike any self-respecting, wanna-be New Yorker, I read the New York Times. But, I’m too poor for a regular subscription, so I settle for my 10 free online articles a month (I don’t know how to trick them into letting me read more…something about masking ISP numbers? I have no idea.).

One of my articles this month struck a particular chord or three: Good Enough? That’s Great.

It’s all about being happy (or not) in relationships. As these relationship articles are often wont to do, they ask the reader these questions that are meant to elicit either deep reflection or suicide:

“…[an] original and most perplexing question: How much do we have a right to expect from marriage? Is this simply as good as it gets?…Can’t we just be happy with what we have? And isn’t there a risk that in pressing for more we’ll turn something pretty good into something really bad?”

And just to knock the stool out from under you, there’s the closing argument:

Others, though, will decide to pull back on the marriage improvement program and instead join the ranks of the appreciatively resigned. They will realize that passion does not equal love, and that the loss of one doesn’t necessarily mean the loss of the other.”

There’s no such thing as perfect, but is there such a thing as better/happier/more fulfilling? Should we be okay with as good as it gets? I was going to start feeling sorry for myself, as I was asking myself these questions. I mean, it’s the NY Times, right? It’s not just a Cosmo quiz. And I think, if I read the article again, it will make a different kind of sense. Then I paid attention to the page itself, not the article. There it is, at the top of my screen:

Screen Shot 2014-02-02 at 12.23.32 PM

This article (and I presume the NYT’s regular Modern Love column) is in the Fashion & Style section. Whew! Anything in that section, however accurate or well-written, can’t be scientifically or psychologically valid, and therefore can’t make me feel bad about myself.

I’m going to have to start reading the New York Post again. Everyone’s life, as reported in that worthy publication, is worse than mine.