A few years back, having recently taught myself how to juggle, I figured I’d keep the circus theme going for a while. So I tried learning how to ride a unicycle. It seemed like it would be challenging enough, but it couldn’t be that difficult, right?

Let’s just say I should’ve stuck to juggling. Balancing on a single wheel was nearly impossible, and I had to pedal like a maniac just to ride for a couple seconds. Plus I kept falling, which was painful in a way that only a man can appreciate.

I practiced riding that unicycle for days, intent on reaching success. Still, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make it happen. In the end, I had to give up, hang up the wheel. And although it wasn’t a real travesty—we are still talking about a unicycle here—it was disappointing.

I didn’t like knowing that I could overestimate myself so much, that my high hopes could come to nothing. I didn’t like the way I felt about that or what it suggested about me. Plain and simple, there wasn’t much fun in failing.

I thought about that the other day after I talked with a guy (we’ll call him “Dave”) about his first marriage. The relationship had failed, and it was a pretty messy failure, too. Bridges were burned, with hurts and misunderstandings exchanged on both sides. What had started out as love and fireworks eventually became only anger and ashes.

They couldn’t get along. They couldn’t agree. They couldn’t find middle ground. Things got worse and worse between them, and as much as they fought to save their marriage, they eventually reached a place where it didn’t seem worth saving anymore.

By the end of it all, Dave and his wife wanted nothing to do with each other. She wouldn’t speak to him, he didn’t want to see her, and vice versa.

So they signed the necessary paperwork, split up their stuff, and went in different directions. They broke things off, but it was not a clean break by any means. It was difficult and painful, and it sent both of them reeling. Even now, years later, the divorce doesn’t feel like a resolution.

In talking to Dave about his first marriage, it’s obvious immediately that the feeling of failure is still raw for him. He knows it’s over and he’s not trying to get his former wife back, but he wishes that the two of them wouldn’t have given up like they did. Knowing what he knows now, he can’t help but wonder if they could have found a way to make it work somehow.

Dave is older now, you see, and wiser. He’s married again, and he loves his wife like crazy, but it’s not because she’s better than his first wife was. He loves her like crazy because he knows he has to. He is determined to have marriage success this time, and he knows that love is the only choice to make.

Of all the people I know who believe in marriage, Dave is one who believes most strongly. He understands that divorce isn’t like quitting a new hobby, that you can’t hang up a marriage like you hang up a unicycle. He’s seen how much ‘til death do us part matters, because he’s been in a relationship that didn’t make it that far.

If there’s good that can come from marital failure, that’s it—the realization of just how sacred those vows are, and the diehard commitment to honor them if you get a second chance.

It’s learning to expect some bumps in the road and maybe even a few falls. It’s knowing from experience that you have to balance hard and pedal like crazy, because this is one ride that you don’t give up on.