Fifteen years

My wife and I have been married fifteen years–the better part of my life. Those of you keeping score will recognize that’s not the majority of my life; it’s barely a third. But it has been the better part of my life. I might even go so far as to say “the best part” of my life, but only if I append “so far.”

Fifteen years is not that long, really. It will take another fifteen years before we’ll have been married for half my life. But on the other hand, within the next fifteen years our children will have moved out and started families of their own. An entire generation enclosed within thirty years of marriage. Even at the half-way point it’s incredible just how much has happened in that time. We’ve crammed those fifteen years full of memories, both good and bad, but the good have a massive lead, hands down. Life has thrown a great deal at us, but we’ve come through it all with a reasonable amount of grace (my wife’s doing; she’s the ballerina), determination, humor, and hard work. Most importantly, the things we’ve come through we’ve come through together. We’ve changed in that time, but we’ve changed in much the same direction rather than divergent paths.

I have no idea what the trick is to that, though heaven knows too many couples in the world haven’t been able to do what we’ve done. All I can say is that it takes work–constant, devoted work. It takes a determination to stick together. It means some things are going to have to take a back seat to our marriage.

It means you need to marry the right person (not perfect, but right). I can’t begin to tell you what that means for others, but for us it means that no matter how different we may be (and there are some pretty dramatic differences in some areas), there is a solid core that we share and draw strength from. It means common goals, from the lofty and lengthy to the brief and mundane. It means making time for one another. And it means making space for each other to do their own thing.

Now, I don’t claim any special wisdom in marriage. This is only my first time, after all. All I really know about how to have a successful marriage is this: Marry Terhi. And that kinda sets everyone else up for failure, so I can hardly offer that as bankable advice. I’ve seen plenty of other people make it work–at least longer, if not better–with matchups that leave me scratching my head, so clearly there’s no one-size-fits-all approach. At least not that I’ve been able to come up with.

This much I do know. Couples can let the experiences of life–the successes and the buffetings–pull them apart or bring them together. I’m really fortunate to have a wife for whom the tendency is toward the latter. And it seems that the more things we go through together, the more committed we become to going through things together. The larger our mass of common experiences becomes, the more gravitational weight it provides to keep us together.

I love her, not just because of who she is and what she brings to the table, but because she’s the one who was with me when our car broke down on the freeway forty miles from anywhere. Because she’s the one who endured a week in a motel with three little kids and three cats while we waited to be able to move into our house. Because she’s the one who ignored my crankiness and helped bail out our tent and slept in a slightly-damp sleeping bag with me on our first major camping trip. Because she’s the one who stood by me (and put up with me) through two years of unemployment. Because she’s the one who was cheering in the audience when I graduated with my MBA. Because she’s the one who cried with me upon leaving two homes behind. Because she’s the one who encourages me to keep writing, even if I’m writing stuff she has no interest in reading.

Fifteen years of experiences, memories, hardships, laughs, tears, and more. How do you replace that? Why would I ever entertain the thought of throwing that all away and starting over from nothing with someone else? How empty that would feel. No inside jokes. No subtle expressions that let you know you’re both thinking exactly the same thing. It would be like our first night in our current house, having little more than our clothes and a sleeping bag in a big, empty, strange space. Yes, sure, you set about building a life the same way you set about filling a house; one piece at a time. And some people, because life is not always fair, are forced to do just that.

But to voluntarily walk away from that and start over? I am very blessed to not be able to understand that. I am fortunate to have built a marriage where the positives outweigh the negatives so resoundingly.

I love you, Terhi. Here’s to another fifteen years, packed with memories and running over. I’m a lucky man.