4

Your Own Buddy Cop Movie

Any time you share your life with another person, there are going to be stressors: The kids will get sick, the house will need repair, you'll take a nasty spill and be unable to work, get attacked by Russian drug-smugglers, or watch your sailboat tragically explode

3

Forced Cross-Pollination of Interests

If you're anything like me, most of your affection for something lies in the amount of exposure you get to it. Sometimes "this album sucks" is a statement of divergent opinion, sometimes it means you're listening to Incubus and sometimes it just means "I haven't listened to this 10 times yet." My impressions can be changed pretty easily, and given enough forced exposure to a thing, I can eventually start to see the good in it. Marriage means sharing space, time and sometimes conflicting interests with another human being ... forever. I can no longer monopolize the Netflix and watch nothing but Buffy for six weeks, because somebody else gets equal TV, video game or music time. As a side effect, I'm not only being exposed to new properties all the time, but being exposed to them by somebody I like and respect.

Before meeting my wife, I was locked into an insular little circle jerk of punk rock, role playing games and postmodern fiction. After meeting her, I can now debate the narrative merits of the esteemed Sir Ghostface Killah, or play through

"Yeah, I guess Dora is OK, but have you read the books? Way darker. Not just little kid stuff, like the show."

Getting married is like inviting somebody into your house that immediately opens up your garbage and starts pulling all the refuse out. It's weird and unsettling at first, and you wish they would just stop, but then they start unwrapping wads of toilet paper with precious metals inside, and you realize some of that shit has been gold this whole time.

Of course other times, on rare occasions, they're completely wrong and just end up wrist-deep in fecal matter. (

2

A Forcefield of Empathy

Being single can sometimes feel like treading water in a sea of assholes. Pretty much everything in life is always out to get you, and because you're alone, and you can't watch your back every minute of every day, it's only a matter of time before life slips in behind your peripherals and slits your damn throat. When you're single and feeling hurt, or depressed, or worried, you might have friends or family to turn to, but the important part is

We're all very impressed that you have a network of caring individuals around you, but some of us burned all of our bridges to see the pretty flames, OK? We don't need you in here flaunting your precious social circles in everybody's faces, dick.

YES YOU ARE SO LOVED. KINDLY SHUT ALL OF YOUR FUCKS UP. YOU'VE INADVERTENTLY LEFT THEM OPEN.

At any rate, even with that village of happy, shiny people at your beck and call, you still have to hope they have time for you, or have gone through something similar enough to understand and relate to your situation. Somebody probably will, but there's no guarantee of that. There's always that gnawing doubt right before you ask, isn't there? Being single means having to turn to people in times of need; being married means never having to turn at all. You're a duality now. Your spouse will always share a core block of experience with you -- they'll vividly remember the time teenagers stole your truck just to drive it a block and ditch it, and how paying to get it out of police impound almost ruined you; they'll know how shitty it feels being robbed with all of your stuff still a state away; they'll understand that cheese makes you poop -- like, a lot -- but goddammit it's

1

Leveling Up into Adulthood

I've often heard it lamented (usually by somebody who's just turned 21) that there's nothing left in adulthood to look forward to after you can legally drink. As far as they're concerned, that's the last big adult milestone left in American culture. But like everything else a 21-year-old says, that statement is a slurry of misconceptions, lies and probably also some recycled memes.

Adulthood is a series of levels, and not every level comes with a new perk, that's true. But the big ones -- driving, voting, drinking -- aren't the only ones you get. Sure, at 21 you get to drink, which is a dramatic and obvious benefit: It's like gaining the ability to shoot fireballs. But sometimes the less flashy perks are, in the long run, much more helpful: Somewhere around 26, for example, you might discover that you don't really give a crap about other people's beliefs anymore (and not in a cruel way). Now you can interact with others that may harbor different religious or political beliefs without turning every party into a tired, ill-informed debate about the nature of life. That's like getting dual wield: It ain't as showy as hurling fiery doom around, but in the long run, you'll end up using it way more often and getting a lot more out of it. That's just an example, mind you: Maybe that happens way earlier than 26 for you, or maybe it never happens at all. Maybe at 24 you learn that some friendships tie you down as much as help you, and that lesson takes a lot of unwanted stress and drama out of your life. Or maybe you realize at 29 that your dad was right and work is its own reward -- and that means you start doing things on your days off instead of just farting into the couch until the dog leaves.

"Turnabout is fair play, my canine friend, though I do not recommend you turn about just now, for I have farted behind you and I assure you: It is terrible."

The perks, lessons, and the ages you that learn them are all variable. But perhaps the biggest one is the realization that you might have enough love in you to share every element of your existence with another human being, and inexplicably

You can buy Robert's book, Everything is Going to Kill Everybody: The Terrifyingly Real Ways the World Wants You Dead, or follow him on Twitter, Facebook and Google+. Or you can skip down to the comments to complain that marriage is a crock because you're 19 and don't know how to be wrong yet.