As I face the aftermath of my third divorce, the contours of my personal life have once again shifted dramatically. Over nearly 53 years, I've gathered a mosaic of experiences that color my views on marriage—a concept I find myself questioning more with each ceremonial conclusion.

My first foray into marriage was at the tender age of 22, driven by youthful naivety and the first flickers of romantic interest shown by a girl in college. What I didn't know then, which I now share with the men I mentor, is that our brains, particularly the prefrontal cortex, are still on a developmental trajectory at that age. This region of the brain, crucial for judgment and impulse control, doesn't fully mature until our mid-20s to early 30s. This biological tidbit would have been a goldmine of wisdom to my younger self, eager to lock in a lifetime commitment. Now, I advise men to wait until they're 30 to marry, given that men often reach a more stable and reflective phase by then. While women also evolve during their 20s, their timeline intersects differently with familial aspirations, often making earlier commitments more practical under certain conditions.

My second marriage was an impulsive rebound, a whirlwind that started with a naked escapade in a car and a misinterpreted helicopter ride over the Smoky Mountains. The spontaneity and thrill, shadowed by emotional unpredictability, painted a vivid picture of what can go awry when time isn't taken to truly understand a partner. This union, though short-lived, was a crash course in the importance of patience—a lesson that resonated deeply with me.

The most transformative, however, was my third marriage, an 11-year saga that I believed would endure a lifetime. It was this relationship that unearthed the deepest self-reflections and personal revelations. Both burdened by past traumas, we navigated through our shared life with the weight of unaddressed childhood wounds. The profound realizations from therapy and introspection brought me to a stark conclusion: I was subconsciously trying to “fix” my partners, a pattern rooted in a childhood spent trying to mend fissures within my family. Recognizing this was both painful and cathartic, marking a pivotal shift in my approach to relationships.

Now, at a crossroads, I'm inclined to steer clear of marriage. The concept no longer holds the allure it once did, especially outside of religious contexts. The traditional marital framework, with its potential financial and emotional tolls, seems misaligned with my current understanding of personal fulfillment and partnership.

As I venture back into the dating world, I'm not just armed with experience but also a newfound maturity and healthier coping mechanisms. I've always relished the process of meeting new humans, learning about them, and fostering connections. This time, however, I'm navigating it with a clearer vision of what I seek in relationships and a symbolic reminder—a painted fingernail on my ring finger, urging me to make thoughtful choices.

I'm curious to hear your thoughts on this reflective journey. As we explore these human experiences together, your insights and perspectives enrich our collective understanding. Email me your thoughts, and let's continue this conversation, learning and growing with each shared story.