Membership in INMA is never a sure thing

She has tried everything to dodge this guy. She has tried acting casual. She has tried not taking him very seriously. She has tried being moody and irritable. She has tried making her schedule impossible at work.

She has lectured him again and again about how unrealistic it is for folks "our age" to think about falling in love. "Let's have fun," she insists and, of course, she means let's proceed as if we're in charge of what our hearts decide. Let's assume this is transient. Let's embrace the ready delusion that, when it does end, neither of us will be surprised and, because we're not surprised, then, of course, neither of us will be hurt.

He doesn't go away.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. She invites him for dinner to meet her two teenage children.

It's not like the kids don't bring their "A" game. The boy speaks derisively to his mother, right in front of the boyfriend. The older sister is haughty, aloof and rude to him.

The next day he asks her out. Again.

And now she's in my office, shaking her head in disbelief. "He loves me," she says, as if she was asking the universe a question. "He wants to marry me."

That's a problem, see, because she's a card-carrying member of INMA -- "I'll Never Marry Again!"

INMA members always have intrigued me and today, more than ever, for a brand new reason. Namely, because, a few years ago, I joined. I keep my member card right behind my Blockbuster card in my wallet.

The INMA association intrigues me because its membership is so diversely motivated. There's not one reason to join; there are lots of reasons.

Some folks join INMA because they genuinely do not believe in the institution of marriage. They consider it an entirely artificial cultural invention. Biologically contraindicated, to boot. These folks are rare, but they do exist.

Some INMA members join as political protest, taking a stand against government intrusion or oppressive tax laws.

The bulk of INMA members, not surprisingly, are made of the next two groups: Hurt/Mistrusting and Bitter/Cynical.

If you think about it, it's really one group; just two sides of one coin. Bitter and cynical are the ironic salve that we apply to hurt and mistrusting. These folks say, "I don't believe in marriage," but they lie. Nobody could hurt this bad who doesn't believe.

Some join INMA because of self-doubt. They doubt their own competence in lasting relationships. They have more or less concluded they are lousy at marriage.

Some INMA members bear painful guilt. Sometimes religious guilt. They cannot forgive themselves. Perhaps they feel they were the disproportionate cause of the divorce. (They might be right!) Or, perhaps, in principle, they believe divorce is sin. Maybe an unforgivable sin. Or at least a sin that carries the lifetime penalty of permanent suspension of their marriage license.

Yet, some folks join INMA, not because they don't believe in marriage, but precisely because they do.

They say "I'll never marry again" for the same reason that some combat veterans come home and decide, in principle, never to own or fire a gun again. For the same reason that an alcoholic, released from his prison term for vehicular homicide, might decide never again to apply for a driver's license.

It's a witness. Sometimes we symbolize just how much we value something by disqualifying ourselves. It's an expression of deep respect. This is why I joined INMA.

Truth be known, I crossed my fingers behind my back when I took the INMA pledge. What I really meant was that I no longer possess any ego-ambition to be married. I no longer seek the marriage symbol as the necessary context of a meaningful life. My first priority is to never again embarrass the institution of marriage. I meant I can't imagine wanting to marry again.

But God's imagination is bigger than mine. Only fools use words like "never" and "always."

This woman in my office wasn't seeking Great Love. Instead, she recognized it. It called her.

Some INMA members, much to their surprise, are forced to resign, because they find themselves looking across a breakfast table or a pillow and recognizing their mate. And suddenly they see the future. They see that, on the day their mate dies, it will feel inauthentic and inappropriate, just plain silly to say: "My boyfriend died today ... My significant other."

No way. They resign from INMA because suddenly it matters very much to embrace the honor of someday being able to say, "My husband died today ... My wife ...."

Originally published in View News, May 5, 2009