如何維系婚姻？擁抱改變
幾年前，我認(rèn)識的人好像都要離婚。
“He’s not the man I married,” one friend told me.
“他不是我結(jié)婚時的那個男人了，”一個朋友告訴我。
“She didn’t change, and I did,” said another.
“她沒有變，我變了，”另一個說。
And then there was the no-fault version: “We grew apart.”
也有人不想談?wù)l對誰錯：“我們分開了。”
Emotional and physical abuse are clear-cut grounds for divorce, but they aren’t the most common causes of failing marriages, at least the ones I hear about. What’s the more typical villain? Change.
情感和身體的虐待是離婚的明確理由，但它們并不是婚姻失敗最常見的原因，至少從我聽到的情況看是如此。更典型的問題是什么呢?是改變。
Feeling oppressed by change or lack of change; it’s a tale as old as time. Yet at some point in any long-term relationship, each partner is likely to evolve from the person we fell in love with into someone new — and not always into someone cuter or smarter or more fun. Each goes from rock climber to couch potato, from rebel to middle manager, and from sex crazed to sleep obsessed.
變化或缺乏變化讓你感覺窒息，這沒有什么新鮮的。然而，在任何長期的關(guān)系中，每個人都有可能從我們愛上的人變成另外一個人——并不總是會變得更可愛、更聰明或更有趣。每個人都從戶外愛好者變成了死宅，從反叛者變成中層管理人員，從性愛狂變成嗜睡者。
Sometimes people feel betrayed by this change. They fell in love with one person, and when that person doesn’t seem familiar anymore, they decide he or she violated the marriage contract. I have begun to wonder if perhaps the problem isn’t change itself but our susceptibility to what has been called the “end of history” illusion.
有時候，人們會因為這種變化而感覺遭到了背叛。他們愛上一個人，當(dāng)那個人變得不再熟悉的時候，他們就認(rèn)為這個人違反了婚約。我已經(jīng)開始懷疑，這個問題可能不僅僅是變化本身，還包括我們對“歷史終結(jié)”這種幻覺的敏感?
“Human beings are works in progress that mistakenly think they’re finished,” the Harvard professor Daniel Gilbert said in a 2014 TED talk called “The Psychology of Your Future Self.” He described research that he and his colleagues had done in 2013: Study subjects (ranging from 18 to 68 years old) reported changing much more over a decade than they expected to.
哈佛大學(xué)教授丹尼爾·吉爾伯特(Daniel Gilbert)在2014年的TED演講《關(guān)于未來的你的心理學(xué)》中稱：“人類只是半成品，他們錯誤地認(rèn)為自己是成品。”他談到自己和同事們在2013年所做的研究：研究對象(從18歲到68歲)報告說，他們在十年時間里的變化遠(yuǎn)比預(yù)計的多。
In 2015, I published a book about where I grew up, St. Marks Place in the East Village of Manhattan. In doing research, I listened to one person after another claim that the street was a shadow of its former self, that all the good businesses had closed and all the good people had left. This sentiment held true even though people disagreed about which were the good businesses and who were the good people.
2015年，我出版了一本關(guān)于我在曼哈頓東村圣馬可廣場成長的書。在進(jìn)行研究的時候，我聽了一個又一個的人聲稱這條街淪落了，所有好的商鋪都關(guān)閉了，所有優(yōu)秀的人都離開了。即使人們對于哪些是好的商鋪，哪些是優(yōu)秀的人看法不一，這種感覺也是真實的。
Nostalgia, which fuels our resentment toward change, is a natural human impulse. And yet being forever content with a spouse, or a street, requires finding ways to be happy with different versions of that person or neighborhood.
懷舊是人類的一種自然沖動，它促發(fā)了我們對變化的憤慨。然而，要想永遠(yuǎn)對配偶，或者對一條街感到稱心如意，就需要找到一些方法，對這個人或這個社區(qū)的不同版本感到滿意。
Because I like to fix broken things quickly and shoddily (my husband, Neal, calls my renovation aesthetic “Little Rascals Clubhouse”), I frequently receive the advice: “Don’t just do something, stand there.”
由于我喜歡快速潦草地修理壞掉的東西(我的丈夫尼爾戲稱我的修復(fù)美學(xué)是“小淘氣俱樂部”)，我經(jīng)常得到這樣的建議：“別動它，站在那里就好。”
Such underreacting may also be the best stance when confronted by too much or too little change. Whether or not we want people to stay the same, time will bring change in abundance.
當(dāng)面對太多或太少變化時，這種不作為的反應(yīng)也可能就是最好的立場。無論我們是否希望人們保持不變，時間都會帶來諸多變化。
A year and a half ago, Neal and I bought a place in the country. We hadn’t been in the market for a house, but our city apartment is only 500 square feet, and we kept admiring this lovely blue house we drove by every time we visited my parents. It turned out to be shockingly affordable.
一年半前，我和尼爾在鄉(xiāng)下買了一處房子。我們從來沒有去市場上找過房子，我們在城里的公寓只有500平方英尺(約合46平方米)。每次去看望我父母的路上開車經(jīng)過這棟可愛的藍(lán)色房子的時候，我們都非常喜歡。結(jié)果，它的價格驚人的實惠。
So now we own a house. We bought furniture, framed pictures and put up a badminton net. We marveled at the change that had come over us. Who were these backyard-grilling, property-tax-paying, shuttlecock-batting people we had become?
所以現(xiàn)在，我們有了一棟自己的房子。我們買了家具，把照片放在相框里，還架起了羽毛球球網(wǎng)。我們對自己身上發(fā)生的變化驚嘆不已。這兩個在后院燒烤、交財產(chǎn)稅、打羽毛球的人是誰啊?
When we met in our 20s, Neal wasn’t a man who would delight in lawn care, and I wasn’t a woman who would find such a man appealing. And yet here we were, avidly refilling our bird feeder and remarking on all the cardinals.
相識時，我和尼爾都20多歲。那時，他不是一個以打理草坪為樂的人，我也不覺得這種人有魅力。但現(xiàn)在，我們熱衷于給鳥食槽添水加料和討論紅衣鳳頭鳥。
Neal, who hadn’t hammered a nail in all the years I’d known him, now had opinions on bookshelves and curtains, and loved going to the hardware store. He whistled while he mowed. He was like an alien. But in this new situation, I was an alien, too — one who knew when to plant bulbs and how to use a Crock-Pot, and who, newly armed with CPR and first aid certification, volunteered at a local camp. Our alien selves were remarkably compatible.
認(rèn)識尼爾這么多年，我從未見他釘過一顆釘子，但他現(xiàn)在竟然對書架和窗簾有了見解，還喜歡上了逛五金店。他竟然會一邊修剪草坪一邊吹口哨。他簡直像個陌生人。但在這種新環(huán)境中，我也是個陌生人——一個知道何時種下鱗莖、如何使用慢燉鍋的陌生人，一個剛考取CPR急救證書、在當(dāng)?shù)氐臓I地做志愿者的陌生人。我們倆的陌生自我顯得格外般配。
Several long-married people I know have said this exact line: “I’ve had at least three marriages. They’ve just all been with the same person.” I’d say Neal and I have had at least three marriages: Our partying 20s, child-centric 30s and home-owning 40s.
我認(rèn)識的好幾個結(jié)婚很長時間的人都說過這樣的話：“我至少有過三場婚姻。每一場都是和同一個人。”我要說的是我和尼爾至少有過三場婚姻：一場是在盡情玩樂的二十幾歲，一場是在以子女為中心的三十幾歲，另一場是在擁有房子的四十幾歲。
Then there’s my abbreviated first marriage. Nick and I met in college and dated for a few months before dropping out and driving cross-country. Over the next few years, we worked a series of low-wage jobs. On the rare occasions when we discussed our future, he said he wasn’t ready to settle down because one day, he claimed, he would probably need to “sow” his “wild oats” — a saying I found tacky and a concept I found ridiculous.
此前我經(jīng)歷了短暫的第一次婚姻。我和尼克在大學(xué)校園里相識，約會沒幾個月便輟了學(xué)，一同駕車橫穿美國。之后的幾年里，我們從事了一系列低薪工作。我們極少討論未來，偶爾討論一下，他也會聲稱自己尚未做好安定下來的準(zhǔn)備，因為照他所說，他可能需要“趁年輕放縱一番”——我認(rèn)為這是句蹩腳的俗話，一個荒唐的概念。
When I told Neal about this years later, he said, “Maybe you found it ridiculous because you’d already done it.”
多年以后，當(dāng)我跟尼爾談起自己當(dāng)年的想法時，他說，“你覺得它很荒唐，或許是因為你已經(jīng)荒唐過了。”
It’s true that from ages 16 to 19 I had a lot of boyfriends. But with Nick, I became happily domestic. We adopted cats. I had changed in such a way that I had no problem being with just one person. I was done changing and thought he should be, too. Certainly, I thought he should not change into a man who sows oats.
的確，從16歲到19歲，我有過很多男朋友。但和尼克在一起時，我很樂于成為居家小婦人。我們養(yǎng)了貓。我改變良多，即便只面對一個人也沒什么問題。我厭倦了改變，覺得他也應(yīng)該是這樣的。我當(dāng)然認(rèn)為他不應(yīng)該變成一個過放蕩生活的男人。
When we got married at the courthouse so he could get his green card (he was Canadian), I didn’t feel different the next day. We still fell asleep to “Politically Incorrect” with our cats at our feet as we always had.
為了讓他獲得綠卡(他是加拿大人)，我們在法院結(jié)了婚，但第二天我并未覺得有何不同。我們一如既往地看著《政治不正確》(Politically Incorrect)入睡，貓咪一如既往地待在我們腳邊。
We told anyone who asked that the marriage was no big deal, just a formality so the government wouldn’t break us up. But when pressed, it was hard to say what differentiated us from the truly married beyond the absence of a party.
我們告訴所有問及此事的人，這場婚姻沒什么大不了，只是走個過場，這樣一來政府就不能把我們分開了。但追究起來，很難說我們和真正結(jié)了婚的夫婦有什么不同——除了缺少一場派對。
When I grew depressed a few months later, I decided that he and our pseudo-marriage were part of the problem. After three years of feeling like the more committed person, I was done and asked him to move out. When he left, I felt sad but also thrilled by the prospect of dating again. A couple of years later, I met Neal.
過了幾個月，我變得很抑郁，并且認(rèn)為他和我們的虛假婚姻是問題的一部分。當(dāng)了三年的像是更為投入的一方，我受夠了，讓他搬走。他離開時，我很難過，但也對可以再次約會的日子充滿憧憬。幾年后，我遇到了尼爾。
Recently, I asked Nick if we could talk. We hadn’t spoken in a decade. He lives in London now, so we Skyped. I saw that he looked almost exactly as he had at 22, though he’d grown a long beard. We had a pleasant conversation. Finally, I asked him if he thought our marriage counted.
最近，我問尼克我們能不能談?wù)劇Ｎ覀円延惺隂]交談過了。他目前住在倫敦，因此我們用Skype聊了聊。我發(fā)現(xiàn)他的樣子幾乎跟22歲時沒什么差別，盡管他留了長長的大胡子。我們聊得很愉快。最后我問，在他看來我們的婚姻算不算數(shù)。
“Yeah,” he said. “I think it counts.”
“算啊，”他說。“我覺得算。”
We were married, just not very well. The marriage didn’t mean much to us, and so when things got rough, we broke up. I had been too immature to know what I was getting into. I thought passion was the most important thing. When my romantic feelings left, I followed them out the door. It was just like any breakup, but with extra paperwork.
我們結(jié)了婚，只不過情況不怎么好。這場婚姻對我們來說沒有太大意義，因此當(dāng)情況變糟時，我們分開了。我太不成熟，不知道自己在做什么。我以為激情是最重要的。當(dāng)浪漫的感覺離開時，我跟著它們出了門。這和以前的任何一次分手沒有任何不同，只是需要額外辦些手續(xù)。
Nick now works at a European arts venue. He’s unmarried. I wouldn’t have predicted his life or his facial hair. I don’t regret our split, but if we had stayed married, I think I would have liked this version of him. 尼
克眼下在一家歐洲藝術(shù)中心工作。他是單身。我沒有料到他會過著這樣的生活或者會留胡子。我沒有對分手感到后悔，但我們?nèi)绻麤]離婚，我想我會喜歡這個樣子的他。
My hair is long and blond now. When Neal and I met, it was dyed black and cut to my chin. When I took to bleaching it myself, it was often orange, because I didn’t know what I was doing.
我現(xiàn)在有著長長的金發(fā)。遇到尼爾那會兒，我留著到下巴的短發(fā)，染成了黑色。當(dāng)我自行漂染頭發(fā)時，它們通常是橘色的，因為我不知道自己在干什么。
Now I weigh about 160 pounds. When I left the hospital after being treated for a burst appendix, I weighed 140. When I was nine months pregnant and starving every second, I weighed 210. I have been everything from size 4 to 14. I have been the life of the party and a drag. I have been broke and loaded, clinically depressed and radiantly happy. Spread out over the years, I’m a harem.
現(xiàn)在我的體重是160磅左右。當(dāng)我治好突發(fā)性闌尾炎，離開醫(yī)院時，我的體重是140磅。當(dāng)我懷著9個月的身孕，每一秒鐘都感到饑餓時，我的體重是210磅。從4碼到14碼的衣服我都穿過。我曾縱情狂歡，也曾痛苦乏味地捱時間。我曾一文不名，也曾腰纏萬貫，曾患上重性抑郁癥，也曾喜氣洋洋。這么多年下來，我有過許多種樣子。
How can we accept that when it comes to our bodies (and everything else, for that matter), the only inevitability is change? And what is the key to caring less about change as a marriage evolves — things like how much sex we’re having and whether or not it’s the best sex possible?
我們?nèi)绾尾拍芴谷唤邮埽赫f到我們的身體(或者其他所有的一切)，唯一不變的就是改變?我們?nèi)绾尾拍茉诨橐隼^續(xù)之際，少關(guān)注某些變化——比如性愛的次數(shù)，以及這是不是最佳的性愛。
One day in the country, Neal and I heard a chipmunk in distress. It had gotten inside the house and was hiding under the couch. Every few minutes, the creature let out a high-pitched squeak. I tried to sweep it out the door to safety with a broom, but it kept running back at my feet.
待在鄉(xiāng)間的一天，我和尼爾聽到了一只落難的花栗鼠的動靜。它進(jìn)到房子里，躲在沙發(fā)下。每隔幾分鐘，這個小家伙就會吱吱地尖叫一番。我試圖用一把掃帚把它趕到門外安全的地方去，但它不停地跟在我身后跑回來。
“Wow, you’re dumb,” I said to it.
“哇，你真笨，”我對它說。
“I got this,” Neal said, mysteriously carrying a plastic cereal bowl. “Shoo it out from under there.”
“交給我了，”尼爾神神秘秘地拿著一只塑料碗，說道。“把它從底下趕出來。”
I did, and the chipmunk raced through the living room. Neal, like an ancient discus thrower, tossed the bowl in a beautiful arc, landing it perfectly atop the scampering creature. He then slid a piece of cardboard under the bowl and carried the chipmunk out into the bushes, where he set it free.
我照做了，花栗鼠在起居室里匆匆跑過。尼爾像古代的擲鐵餅者一樣，把碗拋了出去。塑料碗劃出一道優(yōu)美的弧線，正好罩住那個驚惶奔跑的小家伙。他隨后把一張紙板貼著地面推到碗下，帶著花栗鼠到了外邊的灌木叢那里，把它放走了。
“That was really impressive,” I said.
“剛才那下可真開眼，”我說。
“I know,” he said.
“我知道，”他說。
To feel awed by a man I thought I knew completely: It’s a shock when that happens after so many years. And a boon. That one fling of a bowl probably bought us another five years of marriage.
這么多年下來，還能對一個我本以為自己已經(jīng)全然了解的男人心生欽佩，對我是種沖擊。也是一種福音。他拋出一只碗，或許可以讓我們的婚姻多維持五年。
