I’m 19 years married as of today (just the legal bits, we did the church part the following year).
Where the fuck did time go?
I’m not going to say it was always easy. But it definitely wasn’t “hard work”. I think if maintaining a relationship turns into an unpleasant chore, something is wrong. Just my take on all those relationship advice articles everywhere.
No, sticking together isn’t always easy. Life isn’t always easy.
He will never, ever learn to do x. I, for one, will never do y. (Not for a million $$ and honestly, why should I??? And if he even suggests as much, he’ll regret it.) He has shockingly developed a liking for z. And even more horrible, I’ve turned out to be… Well.
We both have changed. Or maybe matured. Grown into ourselves.
My Dad’s summary of why his marriage failed was that he hoped my mother would always stay the way she was when they got married, and that my mother always hoped she could change him the way she wanted to when they got married.
They both failed.
I was determined not to repeat their mistakes, and although I’ve made plenty mistakes that are all my own, I think I’ve avoided those. Or at least I’m still working on that.
19 years later, I’m pretty happy with the result.
I have never believed in romantic love, and I’m not sure I do now. For a long time I’ve struggled with that.
But I do believe in a lot of things by now.
I believe in getting up at different times during the week and having leisurely, luxurious Sunday brunches together. I believe in having very different opinions and spending nights just talking – after one year, and after 19 years. I believe in soft kisses frantically grabbed across the other half of the bed in the morning and even softer kisses between coats and wet hats coming home at night. I believe in having different standards about how to clean and in dividing up chores and forgetting about standards. I believe in standing up for each other, no matter what. No matter how much that hurts. I believe in adopting kittens together and in dealing with messes… separately. (You stepped in it? You clean it up.) I believe in holding hands when you sing a feline family member to sleep for the very last time. I believe in cooking and eating together, more often than not. (No, cats get no scraps from our table. But sometimes juicy morsels make their way to the cats’ very own plates beforehand.) I believe in travelling together. I even believe in hissing and snarling at each other while packing or running to the station. Because by now I can also believe in harmony on holiday (never mind the toilet curtained off in the middle of the room). I believe in looking at old pictures together and marvelling – were we ever that young? (Yes, yes, we were. Once, once upon a long time ago.) I believe in learning things together. Like dancing. Or sword fighting. (We’ve done both; we basically suck at both; and we love it.) I believe in doing new things together. Like planting a garden. Or founding a club. I believe in doing things separately. In weekends away from it all with your mates. (Or even a month on the other side of the big pond.) And in staying Home Alone for once. I believe in sharing friends and in making new friends on your own. I believe in crying together, in breaking together, in the face of pain and loss. I believe in trusting each other. We have some rules, and we follow them. (Flirting is fine, fucking is not. Honestly, it’s not that difficult.) I believe in back rubs and head massages and hugs. I believe in serving beer while in a bubble bath. (Or champagne, because, hey!) I believe in dancing the twist while watching Pulp Fiction. I believe that good sex or bad sex or any sex can be fun, but pizza and hugs and the aforementioned back rubs can be just as awesome. I believe in admiring silver hair on the head and on the chest and elsewhere. I believe in loving imperfections and loving perfect moments.
I believe in so much now.
Most of all, after 19 years, I still believe in us.