I refuse to understand Cultural Blanks who say,
“Your wife should not be like your mother!”
This is similar to the standard American slight: “Hah! You’re 25 and still live at home!?”
I think both lamentations come from unresolved personal insecurities. In all my life I have not heard such things uttered except from the weakest and most impressionable of men.
Men who feel the need to scream this at other men (or into the digital void) are kao muhe bez glave.
Flies without heads.
I don’t think any man seriously wants their partner to be very similar to their mother. Good men aren’t so vain so as to leave their spouses because they refuse to make them lasagna, or do their laundry. Good men merely want to hunt Mammoths in peace, and for HR department to back off when middle management demand war party consist of at least one pair of breasts.
An ambitious man gains nothing when his spouse’s career trajectory begins to interfere with his own. That the possibility of career conflict remains uncertain after the relationship begins is a sure sign that the relationship will not last for long. It is not enough that conflicts are resolved through time. Their buds must be torched.
Arranged marriages once solved this. In my village, for example, farmers’ sons marry city daughters. City daughters have good management skills, can run laundromat over the summer, while farmers’ sons can leverage real estate equity to expand business locations.
There’s nothing wrong with stating, far ahead of time of course, how much you expect that your relationship ought to focus on your goals, and how much it ought to focus on your partner’s. But you must first know what you are going to build, and you must be honest about what you will provide to one another and your children while you each attempt to do so.
Why should the distribution of your ambitions ultimately matter if expectations are agreed upon early?
Some economist will one day publish this theory under the title “Predistributional Honesty as Policy Instrument for State-Subsidized Marriage — An Impact On Taxes”, and nobody will read it because social science will, in all probability, be increasingly impregnated by mysticism, so says Chardin. People crave story, not statistics. The Journal of Divorce and Remarriage has spent 41 years teaching everybody nothing about love and almost everything about why p-value hacking is fraudulent at best.
Alas, all couples are different. Some pool together their incomes to invest in REITs and Bonds and plan diligently to retire together on fixed income on shared peasant plot financed by unpaid mortgage. They work in same career path or similar, and plan to graduate from 9-5 daycare with 9.1% cumulative interest bearing mixed financial portfolio on 66th year of husband’s life.
Until, that is, wife leaves on husband’s 65th birthday for windswept dirty blonde, Chael, Provencal oil magnate NEET with Murcielago and renovated Castle on Island Hvar. But not before draining 401k and home equity!
Other couples build businesses, which require extreme, unadulterated focus, and the tender love of a woman who happens to be excellent at accounting, and loves to stay at home, and garden, and to keep the books, and raise the children—all while refusing to elevate herself above her man and his wildest dreams.
I don’t subscribe to normative theories of human behavior.
People are by no means under obligation to act in any way that other people wish them to. If I so happen to lay a successful path, it remains that not all men should follow. Besides, it is game-theoretically improbable that all men ascend to nobility at once.
I want to be the breadwinner, and my wife to be the homemaker. I cannot make exceptions, unfortunate though that may be for a handful of very good women who had fathers for mothers and mother for fathers.
Ultimately, strong co-dependence breeds the greatest path to both stability and growth, and that’s what is important for raising children. Man must need women one hundred percent for emotional support on pain of suicide, and woman must need man one hundred ten percent for economic sustenance.
When you realize that raising children is the only point of a sexual relationship, the scales simply fall from your eyes and the world becomes as it is: infinite and whole. For archetypal men and archetypal women are too different from one other to ever be lifelong friends, not without first diving headlong into that ego-shattering journey that is raising a child. It is for this reason that CDC endocrinologists invented gender-neutrality, for the union of pure halves poses a primeval challenge to our would-be masters.
“What the hell do you know!? You’re not even a father, man. I’m a father, man! Listen to me. I have clout. You’re a NEET. You can’t just dismiss my advice-giving, clout-generating powers!”
No, I’m not a father.
But, I have far too many examples of male achievement to draw from, from my 37 person immediate family, all of whom live at most a river or two from home. And the 500 person village cross two great oceans from which my name descends.
This whole “you’re not a father so you shouldn’t talk about this” tract, I believe, is another vain Anglo-Americanism disguised as concern.
Lifestyle advice must always be qualified by identity, it seems, because nobody has a large, stable immediate family from which to draw tacit knowledge about personal growth. If expertise is ultimately regarded as an attribute of identity, then experts are just people with small families and enough free time to browse keyword-loaded niche sites for self-help advice to share with their premium Patreon subscribers. I thought it went without saying that a nephew could learn at least one thing about a healthy marriage by observing his uncle. These days apparently not.
American village life is dead.
The truth is, men who criticize up-and-coming Patriarchs probably aren’t doing much with their lives in comparison—they are certainly not in the process of building intergenerational businesses like Selo Oils that will feed many hundred years of friend and family to come.
Hypermodern Badboys tend to justify their mediocre lives by appealing to the commitment they display when they perform a hard hittin’ regiment of 47 Crazy-Fun Plank Variations for a Killer Core. They are monkeys. In reality, they are ordinary provider simps who could never grasp the possibility of architecting a vast palace of adjacent possibilities in the name of blood and country.
And hence, they pedestalize the importance of values such as emotional equality, trust, vulnerability, authenticity, and love. Despite the macho dead-lifting A E S T H E T I C they so carefully curate, this is merely “Romeo Signaling” at its most desperate.
I really don’t mind that my wife will stay home with our beautiful children in lieu of energistically recapitalizing open-source best practices at Globohomo Corp. She just has to be honest about what she wants, and promise not to change her mind the deeper our commitment grows. And so neither will I.
One cannot merely be born to the sauce. One must acquire it. But once acquired, it can be taught to future generations, provided man and woman live in harmony together.
I am merely the natural byproduct of such honest Selo Living. So I see no reason to gloat, yet I can’t help but cringe when men signal, in public no less, that they want to live with wives whom they consider to be their emotional equals, their intellectual sparring-partners, their amor fati. These are not men we are talking about here. These are Soy.
My family hails from Balkans, from Dinaric Alps where old men, with breath of rakija, tremolo their toon-linked sitars in blistering heat of sacred plum orchard, and from ancient glacial plains of Herceg-Bosna where Mammoths once roamed. Where my great grandfathers tore sinew from saber toothed tigers and their wives rendered fatty flesh into cast iron pots that they themselves poured from molten mountain lava. With varicose hands and feet they lifted whole villages from the icy doldrums of a dying Bronze Age, pregnant as they so often were with future warriors.
How it was, shall it be.
U ime Oca i Sina i Duha Svetoga,
God Bless The Selo.