This week’s question comes from Gregory Stock’s thought-provoking book, The Book of Questions. It’s one that cuts to the heart of how we view love, commitment, and marriage: If you were relatively happily married, had no kids, and met someone you knew would always bring you passionate, intoxicating love, would you leave your spouse? What if you had young children?

My answer is simple: No. Without question or hesitation.

But the reasoning behind that answer? That’s where things get interesting.

In our modern culture, we’re bombarded with messages about following our hearts, finding our soulmates, and never settling for less than perfect happiness. Romance novels and Hollywood movies sell us on the idea of passionate, all-consuming love that sweeps us off our feet. And don’t get me wrong – that kind of love feels amazing. But here’s the thing: I believe we’ve confused the nature of real, lasting love with its more volatile cousin, infatuation.

Let me paint you a picture. Think of passionate, intoxicating love as a fire started with gasoline. It burns bright and hot and fast – it’s exciting, it’s intense, and it makes you feel alive in ways you’ve maybe forgotten. But what happens when that fuel burns out? Because it will burn out. It always does. That’s the nature of fuel-fed fires.

Now, think about the love you find in a relatively happy marriage. It’s more like a carefully tended fireplace. You’re constantly stoking the fire, adding wood periodically, maintaining it. Sometimes the flames might die down, but underneath, you’ve got this base of hot coals that you can always work with. That’s what real love looks like – it’s not just a feeling, it’s an ongoing series of choices and actions.

I’ve seen what happens when people chase that gasoline fire. I’ve witnessed relationships destroyed because someone decided to pursue those intoxicating feelings with someone outside their marriage. And here’s what I’ve learned from watching these situations unfold: Why would you ever put yourself in a position where you’re tempted to develop feelings for someone who isn’t your spouse? It’s like playing with matches next to a gas tank – sure, you might not cause an explosion, but why take that risk?

This brings me to what I consider the heart of the matter: commitment. I think we’ve lost sight of what this word really means in our society. If I got married, I would make a commitment – not just to stay with my spouse, but to put in the work necessary to keep our marriage strong. Marriage isn’t just about being happy; it’s about growing together, supporting each other, and choosing each other every single day, especially on the days when you don’t feel particularly in love.

People place too much emphasis on how they feel in any given moment. “Am I happy?” “Am I still in love?” These questions miss the point entirely. Our emotions are fleeting things – they come and go like clouds across the sky. Love, real love, isn’t something that just happens to you and lasts forever without effort. It’s a choice you make over and over again. When the initial lust and infatuation inevitably fade, you have to redefine what love means to you and your partner.

Now, what about when children are involved? Honestly, for me, this doesn’t change the equation at all. My commitment to my marriage would exist independently of whether we have children. However, this brings up an important point I’ve observed: I really don’t understand couples who stay together “just for the kids.” If you’re genuinely miserable in your relationship and clearly want out, that attitude trickles down. Children are incredibly perceptive – they feel the tension, they sense the unhappiness, they absorb the negative patterns they see in their parents’ relationship. Staying in a truly broken marriage “for the kids” might actually be doing them more harm than good.

But that’s not what we’re talking about in this scenario. We’re talking about leaving a “relatively happy” marriage for the promise of something more exciting. And that’s where I have to circle back to commitment. Marriage isn’t about maintaining a perpetual state of passion and excitement – it’s about building something deeper and more meaningful together.

Think about it this way: When you’re building a house, you don’t just focus on creating a beautiful facade. You need a solid foundation, sturdy walls, and a roof that won’t leak when storms come. The same goes for marriage. Those moments of passion and excitement are like the decorative elements of your house – they make it more enjoyable and beautiful, but they’re not what keeps the structure standing.

The question poses that you “knew” this new person would always bring passionate, intoxicating love. But I have to challenge that premise. How could you possibly know that? And even if you could, would that actually be what you want? Perpetual intensity isn’t sustainable – we need periods of calm, of quiet, of simple companionship. We need the comfort of knowing someone has our back, even when we’re not particularly exciting or lovable.

I realize this might sound unromantic to some people. In a world that celebrates passion and intensity, choosing stability and commitment might seem boring. But I’d argue that there’s something deeply romantic about choosing the same person over and over again, about putting in the work to keep your love alive, about building a life together that goes beyond just feeling good in the moment.

So no, I wouldn’t leave my spouse for the promise of passionate, intoxicating love. Because I understand that real love – the kind that lasts, the kind that builds families and weathers storms and grows deeper with time – isn’t about chasing feelings. It’s about making choices, keeping promises, and doing the work to keep those coals hot, ready to burst into flame whenever you need them to.

The grass isn’t greener on the other side – it’s greener where you water it. And that’s what commitment in marriage is all about: choosing to water your own grass, tend your own fire, and build something that lasts.