Every three years, choose a new place on earth where you and your spouse can marry each other again. Not a vow renewal in the Western sense—no repetition of your original ceremony, no nostalgic recreation of what you already did. Instead, research the sacred marriage traditions of wherever you’ve chosen: a Shinto shrine ceremony in Kyoto, a Hindu wedding on the ghats of Varanasi, a handfasting ritual in the Scottish Highlands, a traditional Berber celebration in the Atlas Mountains. Learn the rituals with genuine respect—what the gestures mean, what the words invoke, what the community believes marriage is for. Hire local officiants if the tradition allows it, or find couples willing to guide you through their customs. Dress in the ceremonial clothing. Speak the vows in the language of that place, even if you barely understand them. Let the ritual reshape what you think commitment means.

Document everything: photograph each ceremony in full traditional dress, collect artifacts—the blessed thread tied around your wrists in India, the wooden cup you drank from in a Celtic ceremony, the henna still fading from your hands in Morocco. Build a visual archive spanning decades and continents, proof that your marriage isn’t a single decision made once in your twenties but a continuous practice of choosing each other across different landscapes, languages, and understandings of what devotion looks like. By your fourth or fifth renewal, you’ll have been married under so many different cosmologies that you’ll realize marriage itself is just a container—what matters is that you keep filling it together.

Treat the entire marriage as a pilgrimage. You’re not tourists sampling ceremonies like souvenirs; you’re students of commitment, learning from cultures that have spent centuries refining what it means to bind two lives together. Each tradition teaches you something your own culture couldn’t: the Japanese ceremony teaches you about ritual precision and aesthetic beauty, the Hindu ceremony teaches you about family as witness and fire as purifier, the Celtic ceremony teaches you about nature as sacred witness. By the time you’ve remarried five or six times across the world, you’ve become experts not in marriage but in marrying—the active verb, the continuous choice, the daily practice of seeing this person and deciding again: yes, you.

Reveals that marriage is not a binding contract signed once and endured forever, but a series of deliberate recommitments made across a lifetime—and that by borrowing the sacred practices of different cultures, you discover that devotion is both universal and infinitely variable, that love transcends tradition, and that the deepest commitment is the willingness to keep choosing the same person in new ways, over and over, until you’ve married them in every language you can find.