My marriage? Up to now everything's okay. But it's a real

In the quiet truth of her words, Jamie Lee Curtis speaks not as an actress or public figure, but as a soul who has wrestled with the deepest of human bonds: “My marriage? Up to now everything’s okay. But it’s a real marriage — imperfect and very difficult. It’s all about people evolving somewhat simultaneously through their lives. I think we’ve emotionally evolved.” These words, simple yet profound, carry the weight of the ages. They remind us that love, though it may begin in wonder, survives only through endurance, humility, and growth. What she describes is no fleeting romance, no golden illusion, but the sacred labor of two spirits striving to remain in harmony as they journey through the ever-changing landscape of life.

In speaking of her marriage, Curtis strips away illusion. She does not call it perfect; she calls it real. In that one word—real—lies the truth that has eluded many hearts. To love another deeply is to encounter not only their light but also their shadow. It is to face oneself reflected in another’s eyes, and to see both beauty and imperfection staring back. A real marriage is not without struggle; it is the very act of confronting struggle together. Like the forging of steel, its strength is born through heat and hammering, through moments of tension that, when endured, create something unbreakable.

Her words call to mind the ancient tale of Odysseus and Penelope, those twin symbols of fidelity and endurance. For twenty long years, they were separated—he by war and wandering, she by duty and deception. Yet their love did not wither. It matured. When they were finally reunited, they did not return to the naive affection of youth but to something richer—a bond tempered by time. Their reunion was not the end of longing but its fulfillment: two souls who had grown apart, yet had grown in ways that allowed them to meet once more as equals. Such is the evolution of love that Curtis speaks of—the mysterious process by which two people must not only stay together, but also grow together, lest they become strangers walking side by side.

This idea of evolution within love is as old as humankind itself. In every enduring union, there is a rhythm of becoming—of losing and finding, of breaking and mending. No person remains as they were on the day they first said “I love you.” Time transforms us all. Our dreams shift, our bodies age, our fears take new forms. A marriage that lasts must be one in which both partners allow one another to change without losing connection, to stumble without losing faith. It is a sacred dance between constancy and transformation, and the music of that dance is patience.

Curtis’s insight reminds us that love is not static—it is a living force, and all living things must grow or perish. Those who imagine marriage as a fixed harmony, untouched by conflict or fatigue, will soon find themselves disillusioned. But those who see it as a journey—a pilgrimage through both storm and sunlight—will discover the deeper joy that comes when two hearts, though imperfect, continue to choose one another. When she says, “I think we’ve emotionally evolved,” she speaks to this victory: not of perfection, but of perseverance; not of unchanging passion, but of ever-deepening understanding.

The ancients would have called such endurance philia, the love born not of desire, but of devotion and respect—the kind that grows in the soil of shared labor, laughter, and forgiveness. It is a love that knows the other not as an ideal, but as a fellow traveler in the long quest of life. When Curtis speaks of her “real marriage,” she gives voice to this timeless truth: that the truest relationships are not measured by ease, but by the courage to evolve together through difficulty.

So, what lesson shall the living draw from these words? It is this: Do not seek perfection in love; seek growth. When hardship comes—and it will—do not flee, but look upon it as the teacher that reveals what your love is made of. Listen, forgive, and remember that to evolve is to live. Sit with your beloved not only in the sunlight of joy, but in the dusk of misunderstanding, and speak truth until the dawn returns. Build not the illusion of perfect peace, but the resilience of a love that endures through every season.

And in the end, if you have walked that long road together—if you have changed and aged and faltered, yet still reach for one another’s hands—then you, too, will be able to say, as Jamie Lee Curtis did with quiet pride and infinite tenderness, “Things are okay. It’s a real marriage.” And in those words, you will find not imperfection, but the highest perfection of all: love that has learned how to last.