This weekend was my sixth anniversary. (I wrote the wedding up briefly last year if you care to read it.) And all this morning I’ve been writing a lovely post about the weekend, except that at about 952 the browser crashed and kerploof and that’s okay, because it was just words and I spew them out all the time. Watch me. Here I go again.
It was a great anniversary, low-key on the outside but intense on the inside, like a piece of chocolate that turns out to have an amazing filling—so amazing that you wish you hadn’t bitten in with such abandon, that you’d known to savor it in advance. A persistent headache meant that I wasn’t able to take part in everything I wanted to, but the high quality of the good stuff made up for it. (Even though I lost at Scrabble by two.lousy.points while Myron reclaimed the household Scrabble crown. He even made a good show of looking apologetic as he plunked down his winning word. Next time, man of mine. Next time.) Good meals. Popcorn for lunch. A respite from the concerns of the rest of the week.
And then there was the inside, truffle filling with hits of espresso and maybe chili, too. No couple wants to stagnate; even though marriage offers consistency, the last thing any human wants (even staid types like us) is to waste our finite time on earth without fulfilling a few dreams here and there. I’m not a loud dreamer. Life has taught me to appreciate what’s around me, to be grateful for the rain finally falling against my window, to grieve and laugh and love with everything in me. Dreaming, though, that’s a different story. Raised by pragmatic women and accustomed to disappointment, I learned to live in the present and leave the future to a future me. Self-styled advice gurus and life coaches like to tell people to dream big/live their truth/[insert trite-ism here], but if it were just that simple, no one would need a life coach.
Here we go, though, dreaming. And not just dreaming, but peeking under the dust ruffles and behind the green curtains and exposing the architecture of the dream itself. Girders and tight angles and strong, riveted connections—you can see the weight-bearing structures that hold the whole fancy dreamscape together. Swath as many pink clouds around as you like, but they’ll dissipate without that foundation. It’s the foundation that makes me breathe a little easier as I look ahead to an anniversary some time from now when things might just be very different for the two of us. And if that dream doesn’t manifest, we can move on to the next one. Even thinking about something this massive is a real step forward.
Beneath my monitor lately I have a little memo box that holds up three things: a scrawled copy of Vegetarian Times’ Garlicky Tahini Sauce over Chard & Quinoa (thank you, Culinate), a post-it note with the hex codes for the colors of this website, and a photo of Myron from many years ago. The chard is coming soon to a dinner plate near me, the hex codes will be changing sometime this summer, and Myron’s smile is still the same, as is the scar above his eyebrow. You gotta have some consistency when you look behind those green curtains. You only get the one future, and when you share it with someone this important, this special, it’s even more important to get it right.