happy anniversary
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| "I do"...what exactly? |
Yes, that sounds romantic, and yes, he is. But I don't really think I understood just what marriage meant when we exchanged vows in my dad's backyard that afternoon. I'm still trying to figure it out, but these last three years have certainly been an invaluable learning experience.
I write about weddings every two weeks for a blog in Sacramento Magazine (check them out here), and I think I first found them so fun because they were cathartic. As anyone who's every gotten married will tell you, the day that's supposed to be "the happiest" of your life is often anything but. Stress, weird family tensions, more stress—did I mention stress?—will leave you exhausted at the end of the day, desperate to eat the two tacos you've been holding on a plate for three hours while everyone who witnessed the event comes to tell you how lovely it was. (True story. By the end of the night, my brain was so fried it basically just chanted: So. Hungry. Just. Want. Tacos.)
Since then, I've had the chance to chow down on many more tacos (though not recently, since Paris seems to excel in crappy Mexican food) and almost all of these meals—Parisian tacos or otherwise—take place while staring across the table at my husband.
How many meals we've shared together by this point, I can't even tell you (though I guess I could do the rough calculation, if this were a statistical blog—thank God it's not), but the crucial point is this: no matter what kind of day I'm having, no matter how tired, how hungry, how sad, how anxious, how anything I've been, I always look forward to sitting face-to-face with Joshua across the table.
It's not just because he makes me laugh (which he does so often that I sometimes wonder if people on the outside know how ridiculously silly he is), not just because he makes me think (I grew up hating politics, and it's only since being with Joshua that I realize I hate the pundits who talk about politics, not the actual practice of human-on-human interaction), not just because he has a damn cute face—I look forward to continuing this weird, wonderful, wild and pock-marked journey that is our relationship every moment we can.
My parents had a nearly 30-year marriage that wouldn't have ended were it not for my mom's death in 2007. Joshua's parents have been married for 41 years and counting. Growing up, I always pictured myself having a long, perfect marriage like those that I observed. That is, before I realized that the word "perfect" is exactly the problem. Marriage isn't perfect, people aren't perfect, perfect isn't even perfect (the word is starting to look alien, I've typed it so many times).
Marrying your best friend isn't a process of perfection unfolding before you each day like some sort of fantastical yellow brick road on which you traipse with ruby slippers. It's bumpy, and dangerous, and there are unexpected potholes and you might turn an ankle—or even break one—every now and then. But if you're lucky, the person you naively said "I do" to however long ago will be there to grab your arm before you fall or stand by while you gather your pieces once you've shattered on the ground.
During the past five years (two of dating, three of marriage), I've had the privilege of having Joshua there to grab my arm, help me gather my pieces, make me guffaw till cookie comes out of my nose, bolster me, turn to me, challenge me, question me, comfort me, lean on me—and above all, love me. All of me. That means more than I could have possibly known three years ago when I donned a white dress and stared into his face, wondering what the hell we were doing.
Truth is, I still don't know. But I'm sure looking forward to our next meal.
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