Though my understanding of God doesn’t allow me to say that He can make mistakes, I still catch myself wondering, more often than I’d admit, whether certain things look suspiciously like divine oversights. One of these is this deep, stubborn human need for intimate relationships, especially with the other gender (yes, Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus still feels painfully accurate). And then we extend this need even further and call it marriage.
Of course, there are exceptions. Let’s not go into those here.
People keep asking: “What are the fundamental requirements for a long-term relationship?”
The truth is very clear: you can’t plan and use some magic formula. Nobody has ever found one that actually works. Life refuses to be controlled. A pet, a new neighbour, a surprise visit from a relative—just one single thing from the infinite supply of trivial things can turn everything upside down in a moment. Even if you write the perfect checklist—love, respect, compatibility, kids, financial stability, shared values, and so on—one item on that list will eventually start cannibalising another. They all take turns.
And that’s before we factor in time. Bodies age. Minds shift. The things you happily tolerated at 28 become unbearable at 42; the things that annoyed you at 35 can suddenly feel endearing at 55. Love itself gets tired. It can turn boring, then toxic, then ceremonial, and—on its better days—quietly comforting again. Nothing stays fixed long enough to be relied upon.
This relationship is like a tangled thread bundle that keeps creating more tangles of its own at unexpected times. It is never void of tangles. You may switch bundles, but you’ll soon end up with the same pattern and not much real gain. The act of untangling is part of this journey. Most people stop somewhere along the way. Some quit in their 30s, others in their 50s, a few hold out until their 70s or 80s. They redirect whatever energy they have left into work, hobbies, grandchildren, travel, solitude—anything that asks less of them. That’s understandable. That’s human.
The real success—the rare and quietly beautiful kind—is when two people choose to keep untangling together, willingly and patiently, day after day, decade after decade. It looks different for everyone. The best relationships are the ones that never keep score of who untangled more or how many remain. That kind of grace leaves you free to stay with the one you’re with, right here in this glorious mess, and make it as enjoyable as possible. That, paradoxically, becomes the strongest foundation for everything yet to come.
Is this scary? Perhaps. But worry not—because reality itself is kinder than our fears. Life rarely follows our worst predictions. The way things actually play out in real life is always different enough, sufficient enough, and miraculous enough for you to muddle through, just as countless generations have done before us—sometimes even better than most.
In the end, a quiet mantra like, “I’ll stay present, I’ll be patient, this too shall pass, and I won’t keep score,” might bring you more peace than any checklist ever could, and carry you further than you thought possible.
Of course, there are exceptions. Let’s not go into those here.
People keep asking: “What are the fundamental requirements for a long-term relationship?”
The truth is very clear: you can’t plan and use some magic formula. Nobody has ever found one that actually works. Life refuses to be controlled. A pet, a new neighbour, a surprise visit from a relative—just one single thing from the infinite supply of trivial things can turn everything upside down in a moment. Even if you write the perfect checklist—love, respect, compatibility, kids, financial stability, shared values, and so on—one item on that list will eventually start cannibalising another. They all take turns.
And that’s before we factor in time. Bodies age. Minds shift. The things you happily tolerated at 28 become unbearable at 42; the things that annoyed you at 35 can suddenly feel endearing at 55. Love itself gets tired. It can turn boring, then toxic, then ceremonial, and—on its better days—quietly comforting again. Nothing stays fixed long enough to be relied upon.
This relationship is like a tangled thread bundle that keeps creating more tangles of its own at unexpected times. It is never void of tangles. You may switch bundles, but you’ll soon end up with the same pattern and not much real gain. The act of untangling is part of this journey. Most people stop somewhere along the way. Some quit in their 30s, others in their 50s, a few hold out until their 70s or 80s. They redirect whatever energy they have left into work, hobbies, grandchildren, travel, solitude—anything that asks less of them. That’s understandable. That’s human.
The real success—the rare and quietly beautiful kind—is when two people choose to keep untangling together, willingly and patiently, day after day, decade after decade. It looks different for everyone. The best relationships are the ones that never keep score of who untangled more or how many remain. That kind of grace leaves you free to stay with the one you’re with, right here in this glorious mess, and make it as enjoyable as possible. That, paradoxically, becomes the strongest foundation for everything yet to come.
Is this scary? Perhaps. But worry not—because reality itself is kinder than our fears. Life rarely follows our worst predictions. The way things actually play out in real life is always different enough, sufficient enough, and miraculous enough for you to muddle through, just as countless generations have done before us—sometimes even better than most.
In the end, a quiet mantra like, “I’ll stay present, I’ll be patient, this too shall pass, and I won’t keep score,” might bring you more peace than any checklist ever could, and carry you further than you thought possible.
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