December 20, 2019

Tomorrow we're celebrating our 35th wedding anniversary, though we’ve been married so long we had to do the math to make sure. My husband is the one who figured it out because I’ve lost track.

So many of those years are what I call, “the forgotten years.”  When you are married as long as we've been, the years mostly become a blur, except for the really big milestones like birthing, moving and losing loved ones. But some years aren’t just fuzzy — they draw a total blank. 

Like 2006. I have no idea what happened that year. Family-wise, It’s as if it doesn’t exist at all — like the 13th floor in a hotel. I’m pretty sure I lived that year, but I couldn’t tell you what happened.

Of course, if you think about it, that can help a marriage. All those small, petty fights just disappear as if they never happened. Actually, even the big ones just go away if you’ve forgotten the whole year. I’d like to think those forgotten years were just fine. Those years are like movie extras: You know they must have a story, but the movie just isn’t about them.

They used to designate wedding anniversaries by stones, which I guess you are supposed to give to each other, but my husband never got the anniversary gift memo so basically I get nothing but love.

But that’s OK because 35 years is the coral wedding anniversary.  While I know that coral is quite beautiful, I think if I’ve made it to 35 years I should get something a lot better than coral. 

And coral is really just beautiful from afar. It’s the trick of the light in the ocean that makes it look that way. Up close, it’s really just a big chunk of rock that you can cut your feet on if you aren’t careful. And isn’t that a perfect metaphor for a long marriage?

Whenever I tell people we've been married for 35 years (which we like to say really loud and slow, as if pronouncing a criminal sentence), they smile, congratulate us, even applaud us like we are circus animals who have just jumped through a ring of fire.

I think no matter how long your marriage is, there should be applause.  Let’s start applauding our marriages not for their longevity but for the little things that make up those forgotten years: like making it through a Monday, calendar coordinating, grocery shopping, and falling asleep together — actually just sharing a bed at all, given snoring, teeth gnashing, and all sorts of human stuff going on in that bed over time.

In the long run, a marriage is made up of those moments that might have sharp edges and are beautiful both up close and from afar. Moments when you're screaming at each other and moments when you're crying in each other’s arms. And my favorite: the moments when you laugh out loud with each other.

People ask me the “secret” to our marriage.  There is no secret — it’s merely a choice. The choice to stay because you chose to start. The choice to commit to each other, not unconditionally but with generosity, patience and good humor. And most of all, the choice to fall in love over and over again through the course of a lifetime.

Of course, I do tell my husband my job is to keep him on his toes, and his is to sweep me off my feet — even if they get cut on the coral of life while he’s doing it.

Happy holidays to all!