My wife and I are married thirty years ago today.
She has suggested, that, at times it feels a lot longer than thirty years, but I suspect (hope) that's because she's German and the Germans use the metric system of measurement. That's my theory and I'm sticking with it.
I met her on Christmas night the year before we married and actually knew the moment I saw her I would marry her.
May well be the last time in my life I've been right-but certainly picked a good moment for it.
I am married to her for these thirty years for a thousand reasons-- and for all the same reasons I married her thirty years ago. Why she ever agreed to marry me is one of the great, unsolved mysteries of the 20th Century, but I am beyond grateful for how it has worked out.
Growing up, I couldn't imagine myself married-and based on the relationships I had (in terms of length and intensity), neither could anyone else.
And now, I cannot think of myself unless it's as a husband and a father.
Anytime I've paused on the Human Highway to feel sorry for myself (I do spend a lot of time in the breakdown lane, come to think of it), I marvel at the remarkable good fortune I have had to be in love with, and loved by, another person who loves me, despite myself.
I've tried to calculate the number of twists and turns in each of our lives that had to happen for she and I to meet and marry. Talk about the Bridge Over San Luis Rey.
It has been a marvelous thirty years, and it seems like only yesterday to me.
I can only hope tomorrow will be as wonderful as every day has been until we get there.