We Did It for Romance

I recall sitting among editor colleagues who were discussing gay marriage. There was a lovely feeling among us, a group I am proud to belong to. When the gay marriage issue came up, there was feeling of hesitation in the room, as if this were a thorny issue and no one wanted to offend.

Those of us who are gay-married were silent. No knowing glances among us. It is not like any of us to retreat. I can only speak for myself. I'm not consciously bothered when I read about Focus on the Family; the bad object that Christian fundamentalists have in mind is a parody that I can distance myself from. It's more complicated to be an ambivalent object of analytic inquiry—to return to the position of the patient among respected analysts who are friends. It was jarring when, suddenly, an experience very profound and personal became an object of study. Time collapsed. I listened to the discussion feeling flat and freeze-dried and heard the irony implicit in certain comments with sadness until I revived a sense of romance. Most present spoke as if getting married were a position taken by people who need something, people who lack basic security or seek affirmation as, I suppose, we all do. Is this the role of patient that gay and lesbian couples unwittingly occupy when we draw attention to our bond—whether we embrace gay marriage or eschew it? In search of romance, do we become done-to's with dependency issues? For Henry and me, getting married was mostly a romantic decision and an occasion for a wild party. I came to appreciate how challenging this was after the reception when a wedding guest protested that we couldn't be announced in the Times and still carry on “like one of the gays.”

It is surprising that the romantic aspect of gay marriage is the hardest to theorize—even for psychoanalysts. You rarely hear anyone discuss love or lust or oedipal dramas when they discuss gay marriage—unless it is to declare, “Our love is just as worthy as theirs!” or to insist that