If variety is the spice of life, marriage is the big can of

Listen well, O children of time, to the voice of Johnny Carson, a man who clothed truth in laughter and laughter in truth. He once said: “If variety is the spice of life, marriage is the big can of leftover Spam.” These words, though framed in jest, carry within them the echoes of wisdom. For the humor of the ancients, like the riddles of sages, often concealed a mirror to human experience. In Carson’s words we find a meditation on routine, on endurance, and on the daily bread of companionship.

The saying begins with variety, the spice of life. Indeed, all men and women yearn for change, for novelty, for the brightness of the unexpected. To taste many flavors, to walk many roads, to witness many wonders—this is the longing of the soul. Spice awakens the tongue, and change stirs the heart. But to contrast this, Carson likens marriage not to spice, but to leftover Spam, a food common, plain, and familiar, often repeated, sometimes tiresome. In this paradox, he reveals the tension between the yearning for novelty and the constancy demanded by lifelong union.

Consider the tale of King Henry VIII of England. His restless pursuit of variety—wives, power, passion—shook an empire and gave birth to new churches and countless sorrows. He could not endure the taste of leftover Spam; he craved always a new dish. Yet the kingdom itself bore the cost of his hunger, and blood was spilled upon the soil of England. From this tale we learn: too much spice burns the tongue, and endless variety can undo the bonds of love and loyalty. Carson’s jest, then, holds warning as well as humor.

Yet let us not despise the leftovers. For in the humble repetition of daily bread lies a different kind of nourishment. Marriage, though it may lack the fever of endless variety, offers instead stability, trust, and the strange comfort of the known. Like Spam, it may not dazzle the senses each day, but it sustains through famine and feast alike. The laughter of a spouse at the end of a long day, the shared burden of sorrow, the raising of children in the shelter of unity—these are the quiet meals that nourish the spirit more than fleeting spices.

The ancients themselves praised such constancy. In the Hebrew scriptures, the wife of noble character is praised not for novelty but for faithfulness. In the Greco-Roman world, philosophers spoke of marriage as a union that endured storms not by variety but by patience. And even in the East, the teachings of Confucius extolled harmony and stability in the household as the foundation of society itself. Thus, Carson’s humor speaks not only of modern cynicism but of timeless truth: marriage demands endurance beyond the hunger for spice.

What lesson then shall we gather? Laugh at the jest, but heed the warning. If you enter into marriage expecting endless novelty, you will soon be disillusioned. If you seek only spice, you will overlook the steady nourishment that makes life possible. The wise learn to season the Spam with creativity, to find joy in small surprises, to cherish routine as the soil from which deep love grows. Do not scorn the familiar, for within it lies the chance to practice gratitude, humor, and devotion.

And what should one do in practice? Add small spices to your daily bread: take walks together, speak with curiosity, laugh even at the dullness of routine. When you feel weary of leftovers, remember that the can of Spam is not punishment but provision. Transform it with effort, patience, and care, and it will sustain you beyond the fleeting pleasures of variety. For true love is not in the spice alone, but in the strength to make a feast of even the plainest fare.

Thus, Johnny Carson, master of wit, gave us not only laughter but wisdom. His words remind us that while life is sweetened by spice, it is strengthened by constancy. So, O listener, honor the humor, but live the truth: in marriage, embrace both the ordinary and the extraordinary, and you will find that even the leftovers can nourish the soul for a lifetime.