Very very extraordinary
The relationships our society values are not always the most important ones
Good morning! It surely won’t be morning anymore where you are, or where I am either, once this gets sent. But it’s been a lovely one, and the sentiment remains.
I’m currently eating a hunk of my favorite bread1 while a veggie chili simmers on the stove.2 I rarely cook big meals, most often relying on prepared foods and snack-dinners throughout the week. I don’t judge myself for this. Because when the desire hits, it feels good and natural to prepare real food and share it with others. Today was an example of that; I woke up to sunshine, thoughts of chili, and the urge to take a walk. I picked up groceries on my way home, where I ran into a friendly coworker and her dogs. Upon arriving home I realized the carrots I’d been planning to use had gone bad. I texted a few of my neighbors and one of them had three beauties about to get tossed but still in good shape; I promised her some chili later as thanks.
Upon rereading that paragraph, my morning sounds idyllic, as if birds were singing and doing my hair while I walked through the woods to get a loaf of bread. So be it—maybe that happened. I’m starting to feel my community here. This is how it goes.
The main affair
On a similar topic, over the weekend I attended a beautifully unconventional wedding. Without sharing too much of the newlyweds’ business, I can say that the event (like the history of weddings, if we’re being accurate) was borne more of practical considerations than a grand desire to “commit for life” to one romantic partner, or any of the other reasons people seemingly get married these days.3 Considering the bride and groom, I knew it would be fun; but, given that backdrop, my expectations for the actual ceremony were low. So I was surprised, joyously so, to find myself tearing up as my friend read her vows.
Despite not having a traditional romantic relationship, both parties made deep commitments to their bond. It was touching that, without having prepared together, they chose the same story of their first meeting as a metaphor for the love and care they bring to their relationship. Although they are not the typical bride and groom, their love is real. I was touched by their honesty, sincerity, and commitment.
It’s no secret that true friendships are deep, bountiful, and full of the same work and love (indeed, sometimes more) that we laud and praise in typical romantic relationships. Despite what popular society seemingly wants us to think, it’s impossible, and certainly not healthy, for one person to meet all of our needs. Humans are social creatures; we thrive in community, not in nuclear-family isolation.
Even before I experienced what it’s like to be in a romantic relationship that not all of society values—that first glimpse of existing in the world without the protective cloak of all my privileges—I’d been lucky to have close friends who weren’t raised to prioritize romantic love, who know that friendships are what keep us afloat. Indeed, one of my favorite parts of early pandemic isolation was a ceremony my friend was gifted for her birthday, during which all of her close friends wrote notes about what we value most about our friendship with her. It was touching to be able to share how I feel about that friend—it’s not something we often think of doing outside of the dating context. And despite having to quarantine alone in her apartment, single at the time and unable to see anyone in person, my friend said she felt so loved; it was one of the best birthdays she’s ever had.
Friendship is beautiful—that feels like a near universal truth, and one that’s gotten slightly more attention recently. Yet it’s still remarkable how little public recognition friendships get when compared with romantic relationships. I realized this discrepancy during the first wave of my peer groups’ big, traditional (and often quite expensive) weddings. I found it strange how some people got society’s blessing, were showered with gifts and praise for simply making the decision to commit to one person and sign a paper giving the state a role in their relationship. I was young and idealistic and focused too much on fairness at the time, which I thought meant equality. I thought if two relationships required the same amount of work and dedication, they deserved the same external recognition and praise. I was shocked by the hypocrisy of expending emotional labor supporting a friend through a challenging and at times toxic romantic relationship, then watching the world praise her for “sticking with it;” no praise for the unseen female labor that kept a lot of that romantic relationship afloat.
Sex and the City is not the reference I particularly wanted to make here, but it did something right in the episode where Carrie makes a registry for herself without the excuse of getting married or having a baby after someone takes her shoes at a friend’s baby shower. The episode’s takeaway is, why should a single woman’s needs or accomplishments be any less worthy of recognition than a married or childbearing one?
But regardless of whether a person is dating someone or not, the takeaway I prefer is, why should her important, family-like friendships matter less than her romantic or biological relationships? Again, I think we all know deep down that they don’t matter less. It’s just still so rare to publicly acknowledge, let alone celebrate, their importance.
What a blessing, though, when we get a chance to do just that.
One of my friends at that wedding is also from the east coast, also spent time in the elite institutions and social worlds so revered there. This friend similarly never quite understood the importance placed on family lineage, marriage, and legacy—like me, she moved out here and discovered she finally fit in, finally had room to breathe.
Because although it’s important to recognize the concept of “chosen family” as a product of queerness, of marginalized communities forging new support systems after being rejected by the ones they were born into, I’ve also experienced it in less explicitly queer communities, too. Many people I know up here rely more heavily on each other for the kind of support we typically think of as familial. A lot of our biological families don’t live nearby. Even if they do, there’s always room for chosen family: people whose lives intersect naturally with our own, who have gone through similar life experiences. Who have also left communities behind where we felt we never quite fit in, and have finally embraced a space where we, against all expectations, feel like we do.
My east coast expat friend and I were both touched by the wedding vows, by the beauty of using the institution of marriage to lift up and revere romantic friendships. To make visible the labor and love that goes into sustaining communities, but that doesn’t often get a reception, a registry, or a cake. Here, the ceremony was a visible celebration of not only this one relationship, but also the many other relationships that make that relationship possible.
A rhetorical question: why is traditional society still so focused on romantic love above all the other loves in our lives? It has to do with colonialism, and power, and patriarchy.4 It has to do with the state controlling who we are allowed to love, and giving us financial benefits for loving the “right” person, for procreating with them and producing a nuclear family. I know all this, and most of you probably know it, too.
It’s a bit absurd, the things we praise compared with the things we don’t. And because of these skewed metrics, many of us are trained to make choices out of obligation to inherited ideas of commitment, of family. To honor the past instead of taking stock of what actually enriches us, and our communities, in this moment. To render invisible the labors of less-conventional love.
I’m grateful to the people in my life who don’t prioritize those things, who recognize the false primacy of marriage and who find ways to commit to, respect, and care for the other friendships and chosen families that provide the enduring structure to our lives. I am grateful, and yet it is still striking to be part of a wedding like this recent one—to tear up at vows about deep friendships, to feel the presence of a community that loves and supports each other, that makes space for a multitude of relationships, all worthy of gifts, of praise. How precious it is.
A skip across the pond
I can’t help but think that Queen Elizabeth’s death and the internet’s reaction to it are relevant here, too. I’m someone who has existed in many different worlds, and the WASPy, descendants of a Mayflower passenger-side of my family was probably raised to care about British royalty. I never did, and so I hope any #royalheads out there will forgive my poorly-researched takes. But as I’ve listened to even just a few reactions to the queen’s death, I’m struck by how much of the New England and east coast society that I have been critiquing is a product, of course, of British colonialism.
The royal family exemplifies the notion of marriage as conferring status and preserving family legacy and decorum above all else. How scandalous when a royal marries a commoner; the tabloids say look how she dresses, her mother’s too crass, they don’t fit in. I guess that’s why Harry and Meghan leaving the family makes sense; again, without having read much about it at all (and not even watching the Oprah interview, oops), I find it natural, and not only due to racism, that they’d want to get out. Just because you inherit something doesn’t mean it works for you. Whether we stay or leave, we all get to choose what to do with what we have.
The podcast Vibe Check does an excellent job of breaking down various reactions to the queen’s death, as well as critiquing the legacy of colonialism she represents. The royal family’s jewels are all stolen; their wealth the product of conquest, brutality, and the imperialist belief that certain humans are valued more than others. A lot of what the “commonwealth” represents feels stale, distasteful. Maybe, with the queen’s passing, we are finally seeing the end.
I want to conclude by saying that I don’t dislike traditional marriage; I’m a romantic, I love love. What I am saying, which is hopefully clear, is that I wish we had more celebrations of different kinds of love; of the friendships that are just as important as the best of what we think of when we think of family, of building a life together, of commitment. The people you call when you’ve had an awful day. The people you call when you want to share joy. The people who make you feel like *you*—feel seen, authentically, without having to impress or accomplish or try. Sometimes those people are the people we get to celebrate through our weddings, or through our family commitments. But a lot of the time, they aren’t. I’d like to have more celebrations like the one I witnessed recently. Here’s hoping I can.
Cheerio,
Julia
P.S. It feels good to be writing again. Thanks, as always, for being here.
The roasted garlic sea salt loaf from Fire Island, ofc.
I would say I’m a domestic goddess but, I actually got too wrapped up in writing this and it’s a tad overcooked. Still tasty though!
I actually just typed “why do people get married” into the search engine for that one… it’s a telling question.
Doesn’t everything, though.
Hey Julia! I love your writing. I smiled when you were describing your idyllic morning especially borrowing carrots from the neighbor.
I resonated with what you said that those other important relationships should be celebrated more. Your friend who stayed up all night just to patiently listen and comfort you through a difficult time. So many uncountable instances that deserve to be honored just as much as a romantic relationship.