Ryan and I got married the day after I turned 31. I took my time - kissed my fair share of frogs, finished law school, and fostered the makings of a successful career - before settling on a suitable mate.
I met my future husband when I was twenty-eight. He was beyond "suitable". He was perfect for me.
Once engaged (from the secret trip Ryan made to Milwaukee to surprise my parents with a preview of the ring, a bottle of champagne for a toast and a bottle of Scotch for my dad to lock in "permission granted", to the romantic proposal and subsequent dinner where we planned out as much life as we could imagine) life changed with lightning speed before our eyes.
It's as if we were willingly sucked into a tractor beam, drawing us toward the future us, powered by our mutual acceptance of this very important deal we were about to make. The engagement was a rock solid verbal commitment. And, from that day on, there was no looking back.
We bought the condo we were renting in February 2007 and gut-rehabbed it ourselves. We worked right up until our May wedding, laying hardwood floors and marble tile, replacing toilets, sinks and plumbing and painting until the wee hours. We didn't have a working kitchen when we got married, and we still didn't have one when we got back from our amazing Hawaiian honeymoon.
Moments of that renovation were comical. At one point (we were standing in the middle of a pile of rubble, pieces of walls missing and dust everywhere) Ryan looked at me and said, "How sure are you we can actually do this?" I replied with unshakable confidence, "We can totally do this. Piece of cake."
And such is the nature of our team goal-attainment. We take turns challenging each other and subsequently reassuring one other that we can "totally do this".
Baby number 2? I was sure it was time.
Move to the suburbs? I wasn't sure. Ryan was.
New job for Jen? Ryan was the biggest instigator and supporter.
Baby number 3? I cried when the plus sign appeared. Ryan said, "We always wanted three. It'll be great."
And so on.
The gist of my father's toast at our amazing wedding reception was a simple one. And I paraphrase: Love is created by two people who share a deep commitment to and abiding respect for one another. If those two believe in it, then it exists. If even one person stops believing, it isn't real anymore. No other thing in the universe can become real just because two people believe in it.
He raised his glass to our enduring belief, and with a "here here" and applause his sentiment took flight and soared around the ballroom full of friends and loved ones. It was a wonderful moment that I will never forget.
He made the point that the force we created when we fell in love and decided to marry is bigger than me or Ryan or any one person. It informs our trajectory, the path to the future us. And, it has brought us three wonderful and very real people who wouldn't exist without us.
I reflect upon my dad's wedding toast often. Even on the not-so-perfect days, I marvel at the fact that Ryan and I are willing to do the work - to be grateful for what drew us together in the first place, to be proud of what we've created together and to hold each other accountable to the belief we've shared since the day we fell in love.
As a wrinkle to this theory, becoming a parent introduces the far more abstract and overwhelming concept of truly unconditional love - a perfect topic for Part II.
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