Just call me Thanks

After the deluge of orders on Valentine’s Day, the workers at the florist shop had the template down pat.

A wintry interlude

We’re sick of photos and status updates about the snow. It wasn’t that much.

But it was pretty, wasn’t it? Especially as it was falling on Saturday night, while everyone (including me) was holed up in cozy pubs, sipping mulled wine. It was all very Jude Law at his local in The Holiday.

Scott was also out, but I think his experience was a bit different from mine. For starters, he was on a stag do and one of the stops was Icebar. On the coldest day of the year. Yeah…I don’t think they were drinking mulled wine either.

We had booked a hotel room in the city, expecting the snow to impact the trains. I retreated to the hotel when the snow got heavier so I could enjoy the room. I love staying in hotels!

I woke up around 2 am and looked around the room. No sign of Scott. I dozed. I switched the television on. I flipped through the hotel guest information binder, looking for nothing in particular but I became an expert on the emergency evacuation process in no time. Finally I heard the key card in the door. Over and over again until the door finally opened. I heard panting.

“Scott?”

No answer. More panting.

I grabbed a bottle of water as a weapon and peered around the door into the other room. It was just Scott. He was trying to get his shoes off. The shoes were soaked through. His hair was wet. He was out of breath. When he turned his back to me, I saw his jeans and coat were covered in snow. He had slipped quite a few times. Either that or he had spent the last hour making snow angels in the street.

But no matter. He made it back through the snow somehow. He made it back to me.

It was like that moment when Jude Law appeared in Cold Mountain (SPOILER ALERT: I’m talking about the first time he reunites with Nicole Kidman after the war, when she almost shoots him in the snowy woods. Not the penultimate scene when he appears in the snow with crows flying around him after an altercation with the Home Guard. Just FYI.)

Anyway, it was just like that, except Scott had come by way of McDonalds, not the American Civil War.

—

I was lucky to get a couple of shots of the snow before too many drunk people traipsed through it and before children woke up to roll most of it into snowmen.

The papers and the news programs warn, “Britain faces a month of weather chaos…”

February, you don’t disappoint.

Game plan

Even before we got married, we talked timelines. I’m a planner. If I knew Excel better, I’d use it more.  Not necessarily for budgets but for lists and schedules and lots of other things Excel isn’t really meant for.  I like to wake up and talk about the day’s plan. I also like to talk life plans before falling asleep. (Scott enjoys neither of these things.)

I like plans.

Our timeline went something like this: get married, move to England, get good jobs, buy a home, move to the US after two years, pay off loans and student debt, and after five years, have a baby.

The five-year mark was a big one. It was the number in my head that sounded the best. To be married five years, to be debt-free by our fifth anniversary, to think about having a kid after five years. Five. It just sounded good.

But now that the big five is here, I need a new plan.

On our anniversary, we went out to a very nice restaurant. We ordered a bottle of wine after enjoying a bottle of champagne before dinner. We laughed and drank and ate and laughed some more. We talked about where we thought we’d be, where we are right now. We talked about our changing timeline.  We talked about moving, about staying put. We talked seriously, seriously about Big Life Decisions.

I didn’t want the night to end.

And then I noticed it. Scott was starting to slump in his chair. His eyelids were heavy. After five years, I know the signs well. He had crossed the fine line of joyful tipsy to sleepy drunk. There was no coming back from this.

The conversation, no matter how hard I tried to salvage it, was over. The making of plans, the goal setting…it was all over. There was no way to bring him back.

And so I put myself in a bad mood and we spent the remaining half hour in silence. Scott, not at all sure what happened but just wanting to go to bed, looked confused and was excessively blinking against the dim light in the restaurant.

“This isn’t how I thought it would be.” I pouted.

Baffled, Scott said, “I’m lost here. I thought we had a brilliant night. I’m tired and we’ve been drinking. Nothing’s happened.”

And then I said it. “It’s just not how I planned it in my head.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew how silly they sounded. We had had a brilliant night. It had gone mostly to plan.

And that was the problem. Plans.

“It’s fun planning with you,” I said. “I just didn’t want the night to end.”

“Ok, but we don’t have to make all our plans tonight.”

I think he actually quoted John Lennon when he was going on about life happening while I’m busy making plans. I should have retaliated with that saying about the value of planning ahead and how it wasn’t raining when Noah built the ark, blah blah. But I had had my fair share of wine too.

I pouted a little more and declined dessert in a pointless act of stubbornness. I really wanted dessert.

On the way home, I apologized and told him he was right. We don’t have to make all our plans tonight or tomorrow or this year. We’re still on the same page, heading the same direction, even if we don’t know how and when we’ll hit all the stops. We don’t need Excel to tell us that.

I think next year we’ll celebrate our anniversary without meat and now without booze.

Oh. I’m doing that planning thing again, aren’t I?

5

Five years.

Where did they go?

Insert photos of all the trips we took. Insert Christmas cards. Insert bank statements, a mortgage. Insert new cars, new jobs, new haircuts, new houses, new passports. New outlooks. New friends. Old friends. Same families. Insert more photos. More memories. More. More. More.

Mention the rocky bits. Highlight overcoming them. Add in all the laughter, all the fun. Mix it with trust and comfort. Underline happiness. Underline it a few times. Sprinkle it all with exclamation points! Leave a few question marks. Italicize together. And always. And hope. Or faith. Both. Everything.

What’s next?

If I were Kate Middleton

Tomorrow’s royal wedding is getting a lot of press coverage in England but not nearly as much as it is in the US. Being an American, I’m not surprised. I know how much we like to speculate endlessly and how fascinated we can be when it comes to the royal family. I wouldn’t even be in England, and now a British citizen, if it weren’t for Prince William. (I hope this post comes up on his Google alerts and he starts following me on Pinterest.)

While it’s been in the papers and on TV a lot over here, the coverage doesn’t rival the coverage in the US. I admit I do feel a bit smug when speaking to Americans about the whole thing. Oh, you’re interested in our royal wedding? Yes, I suppose I will be watching it on TV. I do have the day off, you know. They made it a public holiday, you know. I get paid to watch the wedding and drink champagne at 11 am, you know. I’m so reserved and English now, don’t you know?!

I’ve thought about her dress and how she’ll wear her hair. I wondered what their hen and stag parties were like and if she ever had cold feet. I even asked Scott if they canceled their wedding, would we all have to go to work tomorrow? He went on about how they were definitely given a big talking to before committing to getting married and even if they got cold feet, they’d be going through with it. This is England goddamnit. Keep calm and carry on.

Because I spent much of my pre-teen years dreaming about being in Kate Middleton’s shoes one day, I started to think about how she must be feeling on the eve of her big day. How does she feel? What is she doing tonight? Royal ties aside, what was the lead up to the wedding like for the bride-to-be? Was it anything like it was for me? Does she feel anything like I did? 

Is she hoping all the groomsmen show up in proper suits fitted perfectly? Or did Wills get them to measure themselves after a few cheeky pints one night? And did the tailor wrinkle his nose at the odd measurements and then ask if one of the groomsmen has freakishly long arms?

Did her sister make her a phallic-shaped cake for her hen night? Did she get too nervous to go on stage at a drag club when they called all the brides-to-be up there? Did she make her friend pretend to be her while she hung back, knocking back another weird blue cocktail? Did she dance into the night with her best friends and spend an insane amount of time taking photos of each other in the funky elevators at the hotel?

Is she scared to walk down the aisle? Is she nervous to see all the people looking at her? Does she worry about the best man’s speech? Does she worry about what William really got up to on the stag do? Does she make a mental note to ask more probing questions next time she sees him? Does she forget about all that the next time she sees his smiling face?

Did they argue after William seemed less than thrilled about looking at flower arrangements and table seating plans? Did they make up after he offered to taste-test the cakes again and give her a foot rub?

Did William get carried away with the barcode scanner while they were creating their wedding gift registry? Did Kate have to go online and remove the dozen packages of chocolate chip cookies and alphabet-shaped fridge magnets from their list?

On a quiet Saturday night in, what did William say when, for the trillionth time, Kate asked him, “What are you thinking?” Did his shoulder shrug and return to the rerun of Family Guy drive her to let it all out, right there, right then. Did she do the ugly cry while explaining that she’s just afraid of losing herself, of just becoming an extension of him? Did he hear her? Did he say he had worries too? Did they agree their worries together were nothing compared to what their worries would be if they were apart?

Did William make Kate promise to at least try to get rid of some of her shoes and handbags so he could have a bit more closet space?

Will she be seeing William tonight? Are they in a private bar somewhere, sharing a few drinks with friends? Is she wearing a “Future Mrs. Whatevertheirlastnameis” T-shirt? Will William walk her back to the hotel room she is sharing with her sister? Will they have a hushed conversation outside the hotel room about what tomorrow brings? Will her sister, Pippa, sneak out of the hotel room and snap a few pics of them canoodling in the hallway?

Will Kate giddily burst into the hotel room and jump into bed with her sister for one last night together Before It All Changes? Will they lay there, laughing and whispering, every once in awhile telling each other they really should get some sleep?

Will Kate wake up with Doritos crumbs in her hair?

Is Kate going to stand in front of the mirror and wonder aloud if she really needs to wear Spanx? Will a bridesmaid point out that the wedding night might be awkward if she is wearing Spanx?

Could someone text William to remind him to tip the DJ?

Is this it? Is she absolutely certain? Is she bursting with happiness? Is she full of nerves? Is she just fine being a mix of all of the above?

Does she feel like the luckiest girl in the world?

I hope so. I would. I did.

Oh, and Kate? Don’t forget to pack the “Just Married” flip flops.

A small part of me died today

With the news of Kate Middleton and Prince William’s engagement plastered all over the papers, social networks, television, etc, I can say with almost 100% certainty* that my dream of marrying Wills is over. I have already received several emails from friends and family who remember my teenage crush and wanted to pass on their condolences.

I am comforted by a few things.

1. He chose a brunette.

2. He clearly likes saying the name, “Kate”. (Cait/Kate…same thing.)

3. Kate’s from a fairly normal background (before her parents became millionaires from their party business. I like parties too.)

4. Without Prince William, I would have never met Scott.

Number four really is the most important (followed closely by his love for brunettes obviously) and so tonight, I’m going to suggest opening up a bottle of champagne in honor of Kate and William.

I was going to write something like, “without Wills, I would be single and living in my parents’ basement”, but the truth is, I don’t think that. I probably would have had a great life but it wouldn’t have been this great life. And that is something worth celebrating.

Cheers to Wills & Kate. May you have a long & happy life together…and please get married on a weekday so we can have an extra day off.

 

*You never can be too sure about these things.

Surviving the distance

I got an email from someone who asked me how Scott and I managed to last after being apart for so long. She had always heard that long distance relationships didn’t work.  What was our secret?

I thought about it for a couple of days before writing back – mainly because I don’t have any secrets.  I don’t know if I even have any great advice on the subject because – even after all that I will say here – I would tell you to try to avoid long distance relationships in the first place.  They are so difficult. They suck.

But I figured that I couldn’t just tell this woman that long distance relationships suck.  I needed to be more eloquent, for one. I also needed to do my relationship justice.

So, here’s my advice. May you never need it.

Go on a date.

If you were together, you’d make time for one another. Even though you can’t physically go out for a meal or see a film, you should still schedule each other in.

There is nothing more irritating than being on the phone with someone while they are trying to do something else. If you’ve planned to speak at 7pm, consider it a date and don’t back out.

I like to think of advice I got before a phone interview I had back in college.  Turn off the computer and TV. Remove all distractions. Have a list of a few things you’d like to talk about. Look in a mirror from time to time so you can watch yourself speaking. Smile a lot. You will seem more friendly and engaged.

Ok, maybe you don’t need the mirror but you get the idea.

Hang up the phone.

I’m not a big phone talker. Scott isn’t really either. This wasn’t a great combination.

We decided talking every day wasn’t going to work for us. We’d rather talk every other day or every two days. I wanted quality over quantity. Figure out what works for you.

But remember it’s natural to have an “off” day.  It’s ok to not have anything to say.  Some days we just didn’t want to talk. Those would have been the days when we would have appreciated just being together the most, not having to verbalize our feelings. Just being.

The problem is that usually you’re not both feeling “off” on the same day so when one of you doesn’t feel like talking, the other person gets upset and there isn’t anything you can say to make the situation better.

For us, this was a surefire way to start an argument. Which is exactly what you don’t want when one of you has already said they don’t even feel like talking about good stuff.

Please, I’m begging you. Hang up the phone. Agree to email later. For the love of God, get off the phone. Only bad things will happen if you continue to cling to a conversation that is already over.

Cherish the butterflies.

While I wouldn’t really want to go back to having a long distance relationship, I can admit that it was a lot more exciting.  I know I will never have that sort of excitement again. What I wouldn’t give to have another handwritten love letter!

I will never count down until we see each other next. I will never panic at the thought that the feelings might not be there anymore. (Ok, so this isn’t a great feeling but man, it just adds to the rush.) I will never have the butterflies again as I see him exit the doors at International Arrivals.  I’ll never have that “first” kiss again.

Remember them. Be glad for them. Don’t wish them away too soon.

Use your time wisely.

I won’t lie. I was a mess when we would say goodbye. I was sad for days until my mind made me shut off that part of my life until the next visit.

In the meantime, we focused on ourselves. I was always thinking that one day we would be together but for now? Now have fun. Go out with your friends. Focus on your job or your dreams or both. Have a life of your own. Make sure there are no regrets.

There is plenty of time to be an extension of someone else. And if you’re anything like me, you’ll hate it when you are.

I think this mentality has really stood us in good stead. We both still really enjoy being with our own friends and think it is important to have our own lives. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Have a plan to be together.

Trust me – it will never work if you can’t work towards something. Maybe you can’t be certain you’ll move by the end of the year. Maybe you’re not sure exactly when and how you’ll be together, but start talking about it.

If you’re moving for a job and you want to stay in your relationship, make a deal to only be apart for a set amount of time. Work to be together – whether that means you agree to see each other once a month or move in together at the end of your contract, you need a plan.

They say it will never work.

Just because they didn’t have what it takes to make their relationship last doesn’t mean you won’t either. Also, remember that it has nothing to do with the distance and everything to do with the relationship. If it’s not going to last, it doesn’t matter how far apart you are.

Every cloud…

It’s not all tears and heartache. There are some benefits to a long distance relationship.

Because all you have is a phone call or a letter, you start talking about things you might not have otherwise discussed. Simply put, you run out of things to talk about. So you move on to the more serious topics like religion, kids, past relationships, money, etc. You get to these topics a lot sooner than if you were together and didn’t have to talk all the time.

Being apart also allows you to really think about where things are going and where you want to be six months from now. You get to take time to make some pretty big decisions and that’s something to be grateful for.

Besides the obvious perk of being able to travel to each other and get to know a different city or country, you also don’t have to shave your legs as much.

Go ahead and write that one down under “Pros.”
———–

I know many of you are in, or have been in, successful long distance relationships so I hope you’ll share your advice too.

Girl meets boy Part II

American Pie was on TV the other night. We had it on while we were both on our computers in separate rooms. Scott would come in the living room every few minutes to do one of his many American Pie movie lines. At one point he got very serious, looked over at me and said, “This movie was out 10 years ago. 10 years! Where have the last ten years gone?”

Hey, buddy! Yoohoo…remember me? You spent them with me!

I do know where he’s coming from though. It is crazy to think how the years just fly by.

10 years ago – to the day – this girl met this boy.

And this is where all the time has gone:

Girl meets boy

I have always had crushes on celebrities. I think it’s weird if you haven’t ever had one. What?  You only go for real, attainable men? Weirdos.

For me, it started with Timmy from Lassie and Kirk Cameron from Growing Pains and then progressed to Ralph Macchio in The Karate Kid. But my biggest celebrity crush was Devon Sawa. I had posters covering my walls and I had even created mock-ups of wedding invites for Devon and me.  I actually wrote a letter to him once, asking if he wanted to be pen pals.

I also wrote our initials on the side of the house. On the cement between two bricks. With a pencil. I was so badass, you guys wouldn’t even believe it.

But when I was 14, I became obsessed with Prince William. I was devastated when Diana died because I actually thought she might be my mother-in-law one day.

We had internet access at home but I never used it. I’m not sure I even knew what it all meant. Then we started having classes at school centered around the World Wide Web and all the neat stuff you could find on there.  I used to go to my friend’s house after school and we would go on British chat rooms on the hunt for Prince William. Because, you know, he was probably at his friend’s house playing on this newfangled internet too.

We began chatting to someone named Joey. Turns out he was actually three 18 year old guys who had just moved in together and pooled their money  for a computer. We spent many hours talking to them – we were clearly charmed by their British wit – but one of the guys stood out in particular.

He explained how there were these free email services and how we could write each other messages for free and you could check your email anywhere. I got my first hotmail account and got myself on ICQ too. We talked about growing up in different countries, we told each other about school and our familes, we shared favorite books and songs and films.

In the beginning, it was something to kill the time. It was also a novelty. It was just meant to be a bit of fun, nothing serious. My mom knew it was more than just something to kill time when I started spending a lot more time on the computer. (And these were the days when you waited for five minutes while you listened to the dial up modem whizzing and buzzing away, certain aliens would arrive at any moment. These were the days when we paid by the minute.These were the days when there was no way you could sneak onto the Internet. Kids have it so easy these days.)

I told my mom I was speaking to someone on the web and she responded as any mother would. She was concerned. After all, back then all you heard about were the girls who went missing after meeting their supposedly 17 year old suitors they met on America Online.

Naturally, she was worried and didn’t want me giving out our phone number or address. She asked lots of questions about him and what we talked about for so long. She was just being a mom. (I admit, at the time, I was all,”You just don’t understand me! No one understands what it’s like. My life is so hard!” I’m sorry, Mom.)

We had been chatting for months when he asked if he could send me a mixed tape of songs that he had recorded off the radio. I asked my mom and at first she said no but after I argued my case we agreed that if he was a 50 year old serial killer, he probably would have found me by now. So, yes, he could send the tape but my mom needed to listen to it.

And she did and she was satisfied that there were no sinister messages laced throughout the Sunday night Top 10 singles. She also read some of the letters. I was okay with it too. I knew that if I didn’t include her it would all be over.

We continued chatting and sending tapes and letters. We finally exchanged photos – through snail mail since I probably had never even seen a scanner, never mind a digital camera. It was so strange to see the person I had spent all those months talking to. He was and wasn’t how I imagined him but I was pleasantly surprised.

Then one day he asked if he could call me. I was a nervous wreck. I had talked to boys on the phone. A few of them I even liked but no one like this. I’d like to say the conversation was amazing but it wasn’t. I struggled to understand his broad northern accent. I said “sorry, what was that?” about fifty times and laughed at his jokes 20 seconds after the punch line. He could understand me better because he watched Friends and The Simpsons.

I was falling for a guy I had never even met. I was 16 and wasn’t even allowed to properly date anyone in real life. This guy lived in England. He had just started university. He wasn’t real.

Neither of us really knew what to make of it. We certainly liked each other. We missed each other when we didn’t speak. But we didn’t really know each other and yet you could argue that we knew each other better than anyone.

We talked about meeting up one day. Maybe some day after I graduated college. We could meet up and see where things went from there. I don’t think either of us really believed that would happen.

As the months went on, we talked more and more about how we could meet. I think he was more serious about it than me at first. When I thought about meeting him, I felt sick. I wasn’t ready for that sort of thing. I still had Devon Sawa wedding invitations tucked away in my bedroom. I wasn’t sure I wanted to take the risk and spoil things. I liked having him in my computer, listening to me, asking me questions, caring about me.

And then there was the whole issue of my parents. My dad was stationed in Korea and during his weekly calls, my mom would tell him how serious we were getting and what would she do if I really tried to meet up with this…this man! My dad told her not to worry about it, he was sure it would just wither away. It was a stage. It was a fad. It would never really happen. Then he probably hung up the phone, cursing God for giving him three daughters who had all these icky emotions and trivial problems when he had bigger issues on his mind. Like North Korea.

But it didn’t seem to be a fad. It certainly didn’t feel like I was going through some stage either. One day when I was chatting to this funny and smart Englishman, he suggested that he and a friend come to the US in the summer. They would fly to DC and meet me and my friend and if it was weird and didn’t work out, that would be ok. They would continue on with their vacation in America. No pressure. But what if we never got another chance? What if it was fate? What if we were meant to be together?

And because I was am a hopeless romantic and watched way too many Nora Ephron movies, I said yes. Er, I mean…I said, let me ask my mom. (By this point we had been talking for a year and he still had not abducted me so my mom said ok.)

The lead up to that day in June 1999 was a whole mix of emotions. I was nervous. I was in denial. I was excited. I was, in the only way I knew how, in love. I was terrified.

It was a horrendously hot day in Virginia. I put my hair in velcro curlers the night before and wore a blue shirt. My friend wore a cream skirt. My mom (yep, she had to come) sat on the other side of International Arrivals, reading a magazine. These are the things I remember.

I also remember waiting three hours because their flight was delayed. I remember my friend sitting on an empty luggage carousel and standing up to find black grease across the back of her skirt. I remember my mom telling us she was heading to Starbucks – there was only so much waiting one could do. I remember watching his flight disappear off the board and thinking, he’s not coming. What was I thinking?

And then there they were. The two guys from the photos. Only they looked much younger and much more scared. The look on his face in particular was a look of pure shock, as if he couldn’t believe he just spent all his part-time job earnings on a flight across the ocean to see a girl he had never met before. A girl who wore braces and loved Third Eye Blind and hadn’t yet been allowed to drive with friends in the car. He was as white as a ghost.

I wanted to turn and run away. That sounds horrible but you have to remember I was 16 and terribly self conscious and suddenly faced with what was essentially a blind date. But with so much riding on it.

I didn’t run though. My friend pushed me forward. He saw me. I think a bit of color returned to his face. I actually don’t remember much from those few seconds where he walked out from the big crowd of people. I remember we hugged. I remember he was wearing a grey t-shirt. I remember saying, “You came” in a surprised and totally relieved voice.  I remember looking at him, thinking… is this really you? Is this who I tell my secrets to? Who are you? I hope I know.

The guys checked in to a hotel but came to my house for a BBQ on the first night. We played Scrabble and took my dog for a walk. They charmed my mom with their polite manners and English accents. She let them sleep in the guest room in the basement for the rest of the week. (With a chair under the doorknob, just in case.)

If I were a country singer/songwriter, I could make a killing with a song about that week. It was a week I will remember for the rest of my life. For a week that summer, I felt pretty good. And that’s no small feat for a teenage girl just starting out in the world. I am eternally grateful for those seven days. I am grateful to my mom for listening and acknowledging. I am grateful to my friend who wouldn’t let me run from the baggage claim at Dulles Airport. I am grateful to “Joey”.

In the end, it really did happen. It didn’t wither away. So what if he wasn’t Prince William? Turns out he was something better. He was my first love. He was my future husband.

Devon Sawa, if you are reading this – I’m grateful to you too. Thank you for never writing me back.

On marriage

Go big or go home – that’s how I see this whole blog thing.

I never wanted my blog to just be a collection of vacation photos or a detailed account of what I did each day down to what I had for dinner. Sometimes I want to just share a funny story. Other times I want to write something more serious and I am hopeful that someone somewhere will relate to what I write. I always try to be honest and real.

But every once in awhile I write something that I later decide not to publish. This was one of those pieces before I resurrected it from the “don’t publish for fear of being taken out of context/upsetting your mom” file.

I decided to post it for the following reasons:
1) I think people can relate
2) I just feel like it, plain and simple. That’s the beauty of this whole blog thing
3) I am in a happy, loving marriage with a man who read this and agreed that no husbands were harmed in the making of this post.

———

I’m not sure many people would admit to thinking about how life might have been if things didn’t last with their partners. Think about a time when you fought and how it would have been if you never made up. A moment when you thought it was over and what it would have been like had you let it be.

I believe there are times in a relationship when you or your partner, or both of you, have to make a conscious decision to stick it out or throw in the towel. Have you ever thought about what would have happened if you had chosen differently? Do you ever imagine a different life? Do you ever wonder about where you might have ended up?

I met Scott at 16 and we spent many years apart, working towards a time when we could be together. Maintaining a long distance relationship is one of my greatest accomplishments. I’m really proud of how we did.

But let me tell you, it’s extremely difficult to grow up with someone and not grow apart. I felt myself shaping and I wondered what parts of me were because of him and how I might be different if I were with someone else or with no one at all.

Some days I couldn’t believe my luck. I didn’t understand how I had managed to find a guy like him and to have him love me in return. Other days I questioned whether we were developing into the people we were meant to be or not.

I know we both wondered if the distance – the hardships of doing it for so long – would be too much. I was concerned that one day we’d look at ourselves and who we’d become and we’d be resentful.

We’ve gone on though, completely committed to each other, and we said vows in front of family and friends, promising to be faithful and true to one another.

But after very nearly ten years together, I look at him, looking at me and I can’t help but wonder if he sees me, really sees me. And I look hard at him, searching, wondering, worrying. Has he settled for me? Have we settled along the way?

Usually when I am having one of those days, I pick a fight. I bring up the fact that he never read that book he told me he would. I had asked him to read it so we could talk about it. I want him to ask me about the book, to listen to my thoughts, to share his opinions.

Suddenly we are no longer talking about a book. I want him to get to know me again.

And then he says, Ok, what are you thinking about? What are your thoughts on this book? What do you think about this issue? How do you feel about this event/problem/ TV show?

And before I say anything, I remember that my answers are no different than a year ago, ten years ago. He knows me.

I feel it building up inside me and I want to blurt out, If we were strangers in a bar, would you approach me? Would you pick me out of a crowd?

Maybe he would say yes. Maybe he would say, What does it matter now?

I don’t know.

But I am certain I am not alone in this.

Six months ago, I spent an evening with a dear friend and after half a bottle of red wine, all this came tumbling out. And I saw it. I saw the relief spread across her face. I watched her shoulders relax. Me too, she said. I know exactly what you mean.

We took comfort in each other’s unsettling, niggling feelings. We felt like we could say what we were experiencing without all the judgment, without the looks, without the trouble in paradise comments. We felt normal. We are normal.

Love is the easy part. The hardest is saying I choose you no matter what. I choose you even if you don’t choose me. I choose me with you, me shaped by you.

After ten years, after all the goodbyes, the hellos, the tears and the joy, after moving thousands of miles away, after buying a home together, after leaving family, changing careers, losing loved ones, making friends, after choosing each other over and over again – marriage is hard.

Even if there are no fights, no mean words, no children, no money trouble, no someone else – it’s still something to work at and work for.

You have to be there. For a marriage, for that sort of commitment, you have to be present and aware. You have to just stay in the room.

In all situations, I have a bad habit of thinking the grass is always greener. But the truth is, you’re just as likely to step in a big pile of dog shit whether the grass is green or not.

So I look hard at the grass. And the thing about grass is that it grows and it changes and there’s potential, you know? I try to remember that. I try not to look too hard. I just try to keep looking.

Maybe if we had ended up with other people life wouldn’t have been any less full, any less rich.

But for me, it would have been a life without him. And that…that would just be less.

I know him. He knows me. Sometimes it’s tempting to think about what it could be like meeting someone different, learning new things about them, having them ask your likes and dislikes. Most of the time it seems natural to think about those things. Once in awhile, I worry that it’s not. I worry that it means something more. I worry that he is thinking the same thing. I worry.

But then my hand finds his next to me on the sofa, across the table, under the covers.

He squeezes back.

And my heart settles and I know that’s the very opposite of settling.