Happy third wedding anniversary!
On almost getting married young, then actually getting married young, and celebrating dates
Sometimes I find it hilarious—also maybe a tad hypocritical?—that I talk with horror about almost getting married so young (referring to my called-off engagement at twenty) considering then I went ahead and actually got married at 24.
Which is still, you know, so young.
The difference between my freshly twenty-year-old self accepting my ex’s proposal and my twenty-three-year-old self accepting Sean’s feels bigger than a few years, though. My ex’s question caught me off guard; I knew Sean’s was coming months in advance (and it was less “question” than “official confirmation” of what we already knew). My ex went on and on about how he chose the fancy ring; I ordered the simple one Sean gave me myself. For a millisecond when my ex got down on one knee I felt disappointment instead of joy; when Sean did, I thought yes! let’s yell about our love!
Above all, Sean knew who I was. Not who he wanted me to be—or who he imagined me becoming when he was 18 and I was 15 and smitten—but who I actually was. Who we would actually be together.
So not-quite four years separated the girl who loved Sean from the girl who (thought she) loved Matt, and maybe that doesn’t sound like an incredibly long time, but it felt like one.
It still feels like one.
Anyway, it’s weird to fixate on the age we do things. When I talk about almost getting married so young, I’m not really referring to how nominally old I was. I’m talking about my capacity to commit to another person in a healthy way. My lack of experience with mature relationships. My narrow worldview. Age correlates with those things—with wisdom accrued over time—but it is not a one-to-one, causal relationship.
With Sean, in my life’s real love story, getting married “young” was not horrifying but perfect. We both wanted to build a life with a partner. We knew we were compatible (more than compatible in every way that mattered most). We yearned to grow together forever. So we decided to do just that—and why not secure some tax benefits along the way?
A side effect of our approach to this “officially getting married” thing is that neither of us view our wedding as the biggest step in our relationship timeline. We did not worry about the eyes of god, and we shout-sang Joni Mitchell’s declaration about papers from city hall, and our love was enough already. April 4th was not the moment we fully committed. That had already happened.
But when, exactly?
I love anniversaries. I remember (even mundane) dates without trying. Reminiscing is a favorite pastime. In all senses I am a sentimental sap.
With a list of milestones so long I could recite them for an hour, how do I know which anniversary we should celebrate as the anniversary?
The first time we kissed? Went on a real date? Shared things we’d never told anyone else? Donned the girlfriend and boyfriend labels? Moved in together? Talked about getting engaged? Ordered engagement rings? Gave each other those rings? Invited loved ones to a beach party because we wanted to share the joy with them (and also just because we could)?
Celebrating our wedding anniversary is the most “normal” approach to take. It is nice to go into a restaurant and say yes, we are celebrating today! and tell them about an occasion everyone easily understands. I will happily revisit and remember and recount April 4th to anyone who asks. It was one of the most fun days of my life.
It just wasn’t the day me and Sean became me and Sean.
Because there is no day for that. It’s never been about a day. It’s about a life.
So here’s to the joy of this specific calendar date—and also the joy of realizing we are not defined by a specific calendar date. Three years since we legally said I do, nearly seven since we first started falling in love, and all sorts of time-independent non-linear growth along the way.
