Before marriage, many couples are very much like people rushing

When J. Paul Getty declared, “Before marriage, many couples are very much like people rushing to catch an airplane; once aboard, they turn into passengers. They just sit there,” he clothed timeless wisdom in a metaphor of flight. His words, though tinged with cynicism, point to a deep truth about human love: that before marriage, passion often drives men and women into a frenzy of pursuit, yet after vows are spoken, many grow complacent, forgetting that love is not a destination but a journey that requires motion, care, and renewal.

The meaning of this quote lies in its warning against stagnation. Before marriage, lovers run with eagerness, striving to win affection, eager to impress, to sacrifice, to fight for one another. They are like travelers in haste, determined not to miss their chance at union. But once the goal is achieved, once the airplane of marriage has been boarded, too many surrender to stillness. They cease to strive, cease to labor, and become as passengers, passive and idle, expecting the union to carry itself. Getty’s metaphor reminds us that a marriage without continual effort soon loses altitude, drifting into weariness or despair.

The origin of such insight arises from Getty’s own life. As one of the wealthiest men of his era, his personal relationships were often marked by turbulence; he was married five times, with unions that faltered under strain. From such experience he drew the image of lovers who rush toward the altar, only to falter in the years that follow. His wealth could purchase power and prestige, but it could not preserve passion, and so he spoke with the bitterness of one who knew that desire, left unattended, withers into silence.

History offers us the tale of Antony and Cleopatra, whose union burned with fire at the start but faltered under the weight of politics, war, and complacency. Their love was a pursuit fierce enough to defy empires, yet once secured, it demanded a vigilance neither fully gave. In the end, their passion, once a force of conquest, could not sustain them against the storms of life. Their story mirrors Getty’s warning: to pursue love with fire is not enough; one must also sustain it with work, discipline, and care long after the pursuit has ended.

The wisdom of Getty’s words is this: the vows of marriage are not the end of the race, but the beginning of the true journey. To stop striving is to let the bond weaken. Love is not preserved by time alone; it must be nurtured daily, like a flame that fades unless fed with oil. The pursuit must never cease. Courtship is not a phase to be abandoned but a rhythm to be renewed, lest the partners become mere passengers in a union that once soared.

The lesson is clear: do not mistake arrival for completion. When you have found love and entered into marriage, continue to move, to grow, to strive. Do not sit idle, expecting the union to sustain itself. Instead, labor for one another with the same urgency you showed at the beginning. Renew the chase, rekindle the fire, and never let complacency settle like dust upon your bond.

What, then, must the listener do? Treat marriage as an ever-moving journey. Bring surprise, bring gratitude, bring effort each day. Do not sit as passengers, but rise as pilots together, guiding the course with hands joined upon the wheel. When storms come, face them side by side; when skies are clear, rejoice in the flight but never forget that steering is still required.

Remember always: marriage is not a seat to be occupied, but a voyage to be lived. As Getty reminds us, if you become passengers, you will drift. But if you remain voyagers—ever striving, ever working—then your love will soar higher than the clouds and endure across the years.