Eight years ago, I met a cute guy with a guitar. Two years ago, I married him. And in the meantime, I’d like to think that I’ve learned a thing or two.
The hardest lesson I’ve learned so far? Marriage is hardly about love. Maybe 35%, on a good day.
It’s about love in the beginning, when your time is spent dreaming big dreams and making big promises to each other about where life is going to take you. It’s about love when it’s easy– when you have the time to date your spouse and nothing keeping you from going places at the drop of a hat. It’s about love when it’s exciting, when the butterflies still linger and things are new enough to remember what it felt like when you were falling in love to begin with.
But when you’re vacuuming goldfish crumbs out of the couch? When the three waking hours you have together are spent corralling a toddler, making and cleaning up from dinner, and maybe watching something that isn’t animated? When the only adult conversations you have time for involve bills and groceries and saving for retirement? It isn’t really about love anymore. It’s more about the choice to take care of each other, and the commitment to stick with it, even when it isn’t fun or exciting or easy.
Here’s to us– figuring it out as we go, and maybe getting it right every once in a while. To the love that got us started, and the commitment that will see us through. And most of all, to catching a beat of that falling in love feeling that made me crazy about you to begin with.
Happy Valentine’s Day, HB. From now, till we’re 104.