In the past week alone, three people have asked me when I’m getting married. Not one, not two, but three. Why is everyone in my life is harassing me about my lack of a ring? It’s because I live with my boyfriend.

            It’s really that simple. It’s not a judgment issue; I live in New York City, where there is no moral dilemma about cohabitation. However, that everyone assumes we moved in to test the waters, to see not if but when we’d be ready to tie the knot, and, now that we’ve been living together for two-and-a-half years, people are getting impatient.

            Here’s the thing – that’s not why we moved in together. We moved in together for two reasons: because we like each other, and to save money. It all sounds terribly unromantic, but, I assure you, the exact opposite is true. There’s no pressure in our household. I am not waiting for him to pop the question. He is not waiting for me to accept. We’ve been together for over four and a quarter years, and, as an entity, we just are. We have fun, and we enjoy each other’s company.

            “So why not get married?” You and everyone in my life asks me.

            Well, for one thing, I feel too young. Hell, he’s three years younger than me and he feels too young. We are both trying to pursue writing careers, and we both feel as though we’ve just begun. Wouldn’t planning a wedding and making all those new adjustments be best saved for a less stressful and sleepless period? And once you get married, isn’t it time to start thinking about babies? Oy Vey, just thinking about it makes my head hurt.

            And then there’s the question of cultural differences. I’m Jewish and he’s Asian; not a conflict of interest by any means. For instance, my people eat his people’s food on all the holidays– how much more spiritually connected can you get?

            However, once you get married, you have to sort of choose a practise. If I want to attend services for Yom Kippur (the one day of the year I generally do), does he have to come with me? Would he be okay with getting married under a chuppah like I’ve always wanted to? And, the issues when raising children come up. Do we raise them Jewishly, when I just barely practice? Or do we raise them secularly, the way he was raised? Do we need to teach them to speak Chinese?

            And then there’s the awkward question of how to bring marriage up. Yes, of course, I’ve thought it about it. Sometimes we talk about the future, and, in our collective imagination, we are always together but never married to each other, perpetually single but taken. So, yes, sometimes I feel a sting of jealousy when another one of my friends gets engaged. Sometimes I long for the simple assertion of commitment, for him to say, “Look, we’ve been together so long now and I am certain I want to be with you forever.”

            And then I snap out of it.

            There are so many parts of our relationship that are irrelevant to marriage. For example, if we get married, will I cease to love waking up next to him on the rare obligation-free Saturday morning? I hope not. Will he stop coming up with adorable nicknames for me every single day? It seems unlikely. And if we do stop being affectionate and loving, and turn into something else, something more stale—well, then, I want no part of that.  How could a piece of paper possibly deepen a relationship that has not only persevered but blossomed through so many years and so many tribulations?

            So, really, these are all such minor things when you consider the actual question. When it all comes down to it, the question should not be “why not get married?” but rather “why get married?” After all, we’re happy the way we are. It’s been over four years—obviously we’re doing something right.