A decade minus one

A week ago, we celebrated our ninth anniversary. I use the term "celebrate" loosely, as this was primarily done via email while Jamison was frolicking on the beach in LA and I was at a pumpkin patch with our children. We've never been big on the anniversary festivities (or birthday festivities, for that matter) other than to say something like how crazy it is that we've been married that long, essentially the same basic conversation every year. And it is. Completely crazy and yet completely not crazy at the same time.

I'm not exactly the sentimental type and I'm certainly not one to gush over pretty much anything, ever. It's just not how I'm wired. I read what other people say and think about their significant others and it usually makes me one of two things: (1) uncomfortable or (2) highly suspicious. Uncomfortable because some declarations of affection are just a little too over the top for me, and suspicious because some declarations of affection just don't ring true or feel a bit too forced. (I tend to think that the people who have the best marriages don't feel the need to constantly broadcast the sheer awesomeness of their spouse.)

But this year, for various reasons, I feel the need to broadcast the sheer awesomeness of my spouse and the wonder that is our marriage. You hear all the time how good marriages take work, that you have to pour time and effort into yours to make it successful. For the most part, I don't agree. I actually think our marriage takes very little work. It may be because we're two relatively low-maintenance people who don't require lots and lots of discussion and feedback about our relationship and the state thereof. We just get along. Not always, but by and large, we don't put a whole lot of thought into what we're doing to make our marriage "good."

While many, many people believe wholeheartedly in the idea of fate or "soulmates," we tend to take the view that (a) we're pretty compatible and (b) we choose to stay together, day after day, year in and year out. Fate has nothing to do with it. Yes, we were born in the same small town and we are both remarkably similar in our weirdness. Among other things, we bought each other the same card unknowingly in the very beginning of our courtship (such an old-fashioned word, right?). There are lots of coincidences and events that others may believe to be something larger at work. But I think "fate" is such a passive term, like we're just letting the universe take its own course and have its way with us. Not so.

We've chosen to stick around here for nine years. We'll choose it tomorrow and again the following day. We'll choose it when we're completely exhausted, when we're angry or excited or sad or bored to tears. We'll choose it when our kids are grown and gone. We'll choose it throughout our lives together. And if one of us ever stops choosing it, well...that's a problem. But it's not fate.

What it is, though, is the confidence that comes with knowing that nine years ago I chose the right person. It's the same eagerness that's still there, all these years later, to read emails from Jamison before I read any others, just to see what he's got to say. It's socks on the bedroom floor and trash on the kitchen counter. It's NPR in the mornings and reading in bed at night. It's cursing under my breath while I close the cabinet doors or pick up any of the detritus of his day that was left lying about. It's a tiny gold band on my left hand and an empty ring finger on his left hand (as he prefers no jewelry of any sort-and it's being okay with that, too). It's a boy and a girl, a blond and a brunette, the storm and the calm, the exuberance and the sweetness. It's a marriage. It's a family. It's what we've made, what we'll continue to make for the rest of our time here. It's all I could have hoped for. And so much more.

Happy anniversary. Thanks for choosing me. I'm a lucky girl.