In My Tribe
By
ETHAN WATTERS
Jim Goldberg
The author, center, with his tribe in San Francisco.
It may be true that 'never marrieds' are saving
themselves for something better. They may also be
saving the institution of marriage while they're
at it.
You may be like me: between the ages of 25 and 39, single,
a college-educated city dweller. If so, you may
have also had the unpleasant experience of discovering
that you have been identified (by the U.S. Census
Bureau, no less) as one of the fastest-growing groups
in America --the "never marrieds".
In less than 30 years, the number of never-marrieds has
more than doubled, apparently pushing back the median
age of marriage to the oldest it has been in our
country's history -- about 25 years for women and 27
for men.
As if the connotation of "never married" weren't
negative enough, the vilification of our group has
been swift and shrill. These statistics prove a
"titanic loss of family values," according
to The Washington Times. An article in Time magazine
asked whether "picky" women were "denying
themselves and society the benefits of marriage"
and in the process kicking off "an outbreak
of 'Sex and the City' promiscuity." In a study
on marriage conducted at Rutgers University, researchers
say the "social glue" of the family is
at stake, adding ominously that "crime rates....are
highly correlated with a large percentage of unmarried
young males."
Although I never planned it, I can tell you how I became
a never-married. Thirteen years ago, I moved to San
Francisco for what I assumed was a brief transition
period between college and marriage. The problem
was, I wasn't just looking for an appropriate spouse.
To use the language of the Rutgers researchers,
I was "soul-mate searching." Like 94 percent
of never-marrieds from 20 to 29, I, too, agree with
the statement "When you marry, you want your
spouse to be your soul mate first and foremost."
This über-romantic view is something new. In a 1965
survey, fully three out of four college women said
they'd marry a man they didn't love if he fit their
criteria in every other way.
I discovered along with my friends that finding that soul
mate wasn't easy. Girlfriends came and went, as did
jobs and apartments. The constant in my life -- by default,
not by plan --became a loose group of friends. After
a few years, that group's membership and routines
began to solidify. We met weekly for dinner at a
neighborhood restaurant. We traveled together, moved
one another's furniture, painted one another's apartments,
cheered one another on at sporting events
and open-mike nights.
One day I discovered that the transition period I thought
I was living wasn't a transition period at all.
Something real and important had grown there. I belonged
to an urban tribe. I use the word "tribe" quite
literally here: this is a tight group, with unspoken
roles and hierarchies, whose members think of each
other as "us" and the rest of the world as "them."
This bond is clearest in times of trouble. After
earthquakes (or the recent terrorist strikes), my
instinct to huddle with and protect my group is
no different from what I'd feel for my family.
Once I identified this in my own life, I began to see
tribes everywhere I looked: a house of ex-sorority
women in Philadelphia, a team of ultimate-frisbee
players in Boston and groups of musicians in Austin,
Tex. Cities, I've come to believe, aren't emotional
wastelands where fragile individuals with arrested
development mope around self-indulgently searching
for true love. There are rich landscapes filled
with urban tribes.
So what does it mean that we've quietly added the tribe
years as a developmental stage to adulthood? Because
our friends in the tribe hold us responsible for
our actions, I doubt it will mean a wild swing toward
promiscuity or crime. Tribal behavior does not prove a
loss of "family values." It is a fresh
expression of them.
It is true, though, that marriage and the tribe are at
odds. As many ex-girlfriends will ruefully tell
you, loyalty to the tribe can wreak havoc on romantic
relationships. Not surprisingly, marriage usually
signals the beginning of the end of tribal membership.
From inside the group, marriage can seem like a
risky gambit. When members of our tribe choose to
get married, the rest of us talk about them with
grave concern, as if they've joined a religion that
requires them to live in a guarded compound.
But we also know that the urban tribe can't exist forever.
Those of us who have entered our mid-30's find ourselves
feeling vaguely as if we're living in the latter
episodes of "Seinfeld" or "Friends,"
as if the plot lines of our lives have begun to
wear thin.
So, although tribe membership may delay marriage, that
is where most of us are still heading. And it turns
out there may be some good news when we get there.
Divorce rates have leveled off. Tim Heaton, a sociologist
at Brigham Young University, says he believes he
knows why. In a paper to be published next year,
he argues that it is because people are getting
married later.
Could it be that we who have been biding our time in happy
tribes are now actually grown up enough to understand
what we need in a mate? What a fantastic twist --
we "never marrieds" may end up revitalizing
the very institution we've supposedly been undermining.
And there's another dynamic worth considering. Those of
us who find it so hard to leave our tribes will not choose
marriage blithely, as if it is the inevitable next
step in our lives, the way middle-class high-school
kids choose college. When we go to the altar, we
will be sacrificing something precious. In that
sacrifice, we may begin to learn to treat our marriages
with the reverence they need to survive.
Ethan Watters is a writer living in San Francisco.