Years ago, a dear friend called me with the happy news that her son and daughter-in-law had welcomed their first child into the world, a baby girl. She related how she teased her son to start saving money now, because some day he would be paying for a wedding and walking his daughter down the aisle. The comment irked me because it suggested that a little girl’s major life event is getting married. But within the social construct of the time, it was a loving and sweet tribute.
I never thought about getting married when I was growing up. I had a vague belief that I would marry, but to my parents’ credit, I don’t recall a single statement about the inevitability or desirability of matrimony. Culturally, I assumed that marriage was in my future, and I was conditioned to understand the qualities I should seek out in a life partner. Husbands were supposed to be strong, intelligent, responsible, and, of course, good providers. A successful marriage match was considered the epitome of female achievement; it was the lynchpin of safety and security.
I accepted that fundamental premise without hesitation until my father died in an airplane crash when I was eleven years old.
Shock and disbelief obliterated any emotion other than profound grief. But the consequential lessons of tragedy aren’t dealt in a single blow; they are dispensed randomly and ruthlessly, without regard for timing or the victim’s ability to assimilate them. I understood that my mother would be lonely and that we would all be sad for a long time. But it didn’t occur to me that my social, economic, and emotional safety net had disappeared. I learned at a young age a cruelly obvious fact: independence and self-sufficiency are the only substitutes for powerlessness and vulnerability.
The expectation of family stability, and the assurance of its continuity, is arbitrarily sprinkled onto the populace. I grew up with the backdrop of capricious misfortune always hovering at the perimeter of my consciousness. I shouldered obligations that were not asked of me; I assumed them while wearing the mantle of responsibility. I developed persistence when aptitude failed me and pluck when misfortune befell me. Where I lacked advantage, I substituted ambition. Adversity is a heartless master, but I grew at its feet.
I’m proud of who I’ve become, though it’s not tied to net worth, professional reputation, or personal relationships. For me, success is the knowledge that I am strong and capable. I am blessed with the love and support of family and friends, but I am deeply aware that my survival is not tethered to the existence of anyone other than myself. That knowledge does not isolate me; it frees me from fear and indecision. I may blink in the face of fear, but I walk a straight line in its path.
There are times when I wonder what the trajectory of my life would have been in the absence of tragedy. A drive to succeed always burned inside me, but it was stoked, I suspect, by an insatiable desire for independence.
In many ways, I became the person that society encouraged me to marry.