Marriage is something that needs to be worked on every day. I

When Emily Blunt said, “Marriage is something that needs to be worked on every day. I don't know if I'm the one to give marital advice since I've only been married for a little over a year, but marriage is certainly easier if you are open, trusting and loving,” she was speaking not as a teacher, but as a humble student of love—one who has glimpsed its beauty and its discipline. Her words carry the freshness of honesty and the timelessness of wisdom, for she reminds us that marriage, though often celebrated as a destination, is in truth a journey of daily effort, where affection must be renewed as faithfully as the rising sun.

The meaning of her reflection lies in the understanding that love, left untended, fades like an unwatered flower. In every generation, people have dreamed of love as an effortless harmony, a constant delight untouched by time or trial. Yet Blunt’s words reveal a more enduring truth: that love’s strength is measured not by how easily it begins, but by how patiently it is maintained. To “work on marriage every day” is to treat it not as a gift to be enjoyed, but as a craft to be perfected. It is to wake each morning and say, “Today I will choose this person again,” even when storms arise or the heart grows weary.

Her humility—“I don’t know if I’m the one to give marital advice”—is itself a form of wisdom. The ancients taught that those who claim mastery in love have already lost sight of its mystery. By acknowledging that she is still learning, Blunt places herself among those who truly understand the sacred labor of partnership. Love, she suggests, is not a skill acquired once, but a discipline practiced daily—one that requires both humility and perseverance. In this way, she speaks like the philosophers of old, who believed that marriage, like virtue, demands constant tending of the soul.

When she says that marriage becomes “easier if you are open, trusting, and loving,” she names the three pillars upon which all enduring unions rest. Openness is the courage to be known—to stand before another without mask or pretense. Trust is the bridge that endures when doubt and distance threaten to divide. And love—the greatest of the three—is the light that guides two imperfect souls through the shadows of misunderstanding. Without these virtues, even the grandest union collapses; with them, even the simplest partnership becomes divine. For love, in its truest form, is not possession but participation: two hearts working together toward the same truth.

History too bears witness to this principle. Consider the story of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, whose marriage began in youth and endured through decades of trials and triumphs. Though she was a monarch and he a consort, their love thrived because it was built on mutual trust and daily devotion. They studied together, ruled together, raised children together. When Albert died, Victoria mourned him for forty years—not as a symbol of power lost, but as a partner whose daily presence had given meaning to her reign. Their marriage was not one of ease, but of effort—and in that effort, they found eternity.

Blunt’s reflection also carries a gentle correction for the modern heart: that marriage is not sustained by grand gestures, but by small acts of consistency. To love every day is to listen when weary, to forgive when hurt, to give when empty. It is in these quiet labors that the glory of love is revealed. The ancients likened marriage to the tending of a sacred flame—it will burn brightly only if both hands feed it. And when both partners approach this task with openness, trust, and love, the flame becomes unquenchable, warming generations beyond their own.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not wait for love to remain strong on its own—strengthen it. Do not assume that marriage will endure without work—work for it. Let each day be a renewal, a recommitment, a small offering of patience and kindness. Speak truth even when it trembles on your tongue. Forgive quickly, and give thanks often. In this way, love becomes not a fleeting feeling, but a living practice—a discipline that refines the heart.

So remember this, my child: marriage is not a song that sings itself—it is a symphony that two souls must compose together, note by note, day by day. Emily Blunt’s words remind us that love is not weakened by effort; it is strengthened by it. For to work at love is to honor it. And those who honor love with labor will find, in time, that what once required effort becomes their joy—an unending rhythm of giving and receiving, as eternal as the beating of two hearts made one.