Today, I've been married fifteen years to the person I started dating twenty years ago. That's a long time. I can't think of anybody else who could deal with all the versions of myself that I've grown through since he met me when I was 18, but if I don't know anything else, I know he loves me. He's not perfect. Lord knows I'm not, although I am right about everything way more often than he is...so maybe I'm a little closer to perfect. He's my headache and my heartbeat. It's nice to love this way and to be loved.
I use to blog about our anniversary every year. Six years ago, on our nine year wedding anniversary, I wrote this on my old blog...
" [Being married nine years is] like a pair of jeans. You know how you buy them because they fit perfectly and they make your butt look cute and then you settle into them and they get kinda stretched out and might even sag a little bit over time and then get too tight if you put on a few pounds or are bloated,and sometimes they don't fit, but you keep them in the closet and try them on all the time until they do fit again and they might even get a hole in the knee because of all the wear, but you wear them all the time anyway because even though they don't fit the same way, you feel just as cute in them and, most importantly, they still make your butt look cute? That's what nine years of marriage is like. My marriage is comfortable and familiar and although it's not as perfect as it seemed to be when it was new, my butt still looks cute in it."
You can read the full post here.
Today, after fifteen years as a wife, and eight years as a mom, it's time for a new analogy. From my perspective, of course.
Marriage is like a tandem bungee jump. You get strapped to another person crazy enough to do it with you. The highs are really high and the lows are really low. You alternate between screaming in ecstasy and screaming in pain, to recording it on a GoPro strapped to your helmet to share on social media because your jump is going to somehow be different and cooler and more stylish and maybe even better than the millions of tandem jumpers before you, to wondering what in the entire fugg you were thinking doing this stupid jump in the first place. The lows and highs eventually balance out and you find yourself hanging in there together. When people ask you how it was you tell them it was fun, because it was fun. You're so glad you did it and look back at the photos and videos often and your heart and your mouth smile at the memories. You're grateful for the experience. You feel proud to have done it. Lucky even. But you know these intense experiences are once in a lifetime kinda things. Because as awesome as it is to be there one hundred percent for another person who is also there for you, it takes so much work at times to hold on. Especially if you're the one carrying the camera. It will save you if you hold on to each other, but it's exhausting. And even if the opportunity presents itself, most likely, you will never do it again.