(Or maybe they did tell us and we just weren't listening)
The person who shows up on your wedding day is not actually the person who shows up each morning in your marriage.
Nothing is fixed, stagnant. Everyone changes with time.
Sometimes it's drastic, like when someone sets off for war and returns as a living corpse: a shell of who they were, trembling in their sleep, assaulted with memories too horrifying to disclose.
Mostly, though, it seems to be a gradual evolving...a little sagging and bulging and wrinkling, a deepening reclusiveness, a sharpened cynicism. Changes brought about by the trauma of daily life, with its beginnings and deaths and promotions and losses.
And one can wake up at thirty (or forty or fifty or twenty-three) and find that they don't recognize the person snoring beside them, wrapped in more than their fair share of blanket.
Which can be taxing, I think. Difficult if the current version of your spouse grates at you, difficult to honor the commitment you've made, difficult to choose to love.
Or, if you're as blessed as I am, it can be easier than ever. Because sometimes the changes are happy: a sweet mellowing of spirit, a deeper well of patience, a rooted steadfastness.
My husband is not the person I married over a decade ago.
He's even better.