The paradox of infidelity is not about unmet love but about misplaced desires. In chasing the illusion of what is missing, many men forfeit the abundance already within their grasp.
The phenomenon of infidelity has long perplexed scholars, clergy, and ordinary observers alike. Why would men, ensconced in stable relationships, risk it all for fleeting encounters? The answer, though multilayered, can be distilled into what experts term the 80/20 principle—the tendency to undervalue abundance while being lured by scarcity. It is a paradox of human desire: in reaching for what appears missing, men often lose the greater treasure already in their grasp.
Sociologists contend that cheating is seldom rooted in outright dissatisfaction. Instead, it arises from a restless pursuit of novelty, a craving for validation, or the intoxicating illusion that someone else offers the elusive “missing piece.” Yet time and again, that missing 20 percent proves ephemeral—merely a mirage that evaporates once attained, leaving destruction in its wake.
Modern culture magnifies this cycle. In a world saturated with curated images, dating platforms, and hyper-idealized portrayals of romance, men are incessantly conditioned to believe there is always something more alluring just beyond reach. This ceaseless comparison corrodes gratitude, blinding many to the substance, loyalty, and sacrificial devotion that already sustains them at home.
Psychologists warn that such pursuits are less about love and more about ego. Cheating becomes a mirror not of what the partner lacks, but of what the man himself fails to confront: insecurities, unmet ambitions, or the insatiable thirst for conquest. In this light, the 20 percent is not an answer to deficiency, but a distraction from self-reflection.
Faith traditions speak even more directly. From the wisdom literature of Proverbs— “Drink water from your own cistern… Why be captivated, my son, by an adulteress?”—to the teachings of Christ on fidelity, the message is consistent: discontent is a spiritual blindness. To devalue a spouse who endures hardship, offers companionship, and anchors one’s life, in exchange for a fleeting thrill, is to mortgage the eternal for the temporary.
The consequences of such betrayal ripple beyond the individual. Families are fractured, children bear silent wounds, and trust—the bedrock of any covenant—is corroded, often irreparably. In chasing the shimmer of the 20 percent, men not only dismantle their homes but also diminish their own legacies.
Yet beneath the wreckage lies an enduring truth: contentment is a discipline. It requires the deliberate choice to esteem the ordinary over the illusory, to cherish consistency over novelty, and to regard sacrifice as the highest form of love. Gratitude transforms the 80 percent from something “not enough” into something immeasurable.
In the end, cheating is not merely an act against another—it is an act against oneself. It exposes not the insufficiency of one’s partner, but the poverty of one’s own judgment. And when the mirage fades, the 20 percent remains what it always was: a counterfeit reward for a reckless exchange.
The caution is timeless: to undervalue what one possesses is to invite loss; to honour it is to secure abundance. Until men learn to see the gift already in their hands, many will continue to trade diamonds for stones, discovering too late that the cost of discontent is everything they once called home.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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