Marriage is scary to me, man.

Hear now the words of Abel Tesfaye, known to the world as The Weeknd, who confessed with honesty and trembling heart: “Marriage is scary to me, man.” Simple though these words may sound, they are heavy with the weight of fear, expectation, and the vast mystery of love’s covenant. For in them is the cry of the modern soul, wary of commitment, shaken by the stories of broken vows, yet still gazing upon the sacred union of marriage with awe and hesitation.

The meaning of his confession is clear: marriage is not merely a ceremony, nor only a binding of names—it is a surrender of self, a leap into the unknown, where two lives intertwine until they can no longer be easily parted. To one who has lived in freedom, who has tasted the fleeting delights of the world, such permanence feels like a cage, or a trial that demands more than can be given. Thus The Weeknd voices the fear that many harbor but few dare to utter: that in promising forever, one risks being broken by it.

The origin of this fear lies deep in both personal and cultural memory. The world has seen countless marriages fail, vows shattered, promises betrayed. For every tale of enduring devotion, there are stories of bitterness, infidelity, and loss. And so, for the artist whose life is already lived in the spotlight of scrutiny, to step into the covenant of marriage is to step into fire, where both the self and the union are tested daily. In truth, the fear of marriage is the fear of vulnerability, the fear of giving another the power to wound and the power to heal.

History too has shown this fear. Consider the story of Henry VIII of England, whose dread of unfruitful unions drove him to break with Rome, to cast aside wives, and to plunge a kingdom into turmoil. To him, marriage was not a sanctuary but a battlefield of expectation, legacy, and failure. His story illustrates how the weight of marriage—its permanence, its consequences—can terrify even kings. If thrones may tremble at it, how much more the heart of an ordinary man?

Yet, though marriage inspires fear, it also holds promise. For fear often points to something sacred. One does not fear lightly what is meaningless; one fears what has the power to transform. The Weeknd’s words, therefore, are not a rejection of marriage, but a recognition of its gravity. To call it “scary” is to acknowledge its seriousness, its ability to change a life forever. Fear is not always a sign to flee; sometimes it is the sign that one stands at the threshold of something holy.

The lesson here is profound: do not despise your fear, but listen to it. Let it teach you that marriage is not to be entered carelessly, nor for appearances, nor for fleeting desire. Let it remind you that promises of forever must be honored with preparation, humility, and truth. Fear becomes a guide when it leads you to count the cost before taking the vow. But fear must not be allowed to rule, lest it keep you forever at the gates, never daring to enter.

So, children of tomorrow, carry this wisdom: if marriage frightens you, do not run, but reflect. Ask yourself if your fear is born of wounds unhealed, or of reverence for something greater than yourself. Heal what must be healed, learn what must be learned, and when the time is right, step forward with courage. For though marriage is indeed “scary,” it is also the forge where love becomes endurance, where two souls learn to grow together, and where fear itself can be transformed into trust. In that transformation lies not terror, but triumph.