She avoided eye contact when she said it, kind of a “oh ho hum just offhand thinking maybe you could…” sort of thing. But when she said it, I wanted to hug the world, everyone who’s ever needed it, but not until I’d spent an eternity or two hugging her first.
We were lunching in the sun, discussing what to do with my three weeks of American summer. Three more months abroad had come and gone and the next season was already tying its shoes in preparation, but there was so much hearty homeland living I wanted to do.
Meals with family, walks with friends, and games with the kiddo. I yearned for the long slow opulence of an American breakfast, an oversized American sandwich by the lake, and hiking to a picnic in the redwoods. I wanted back on the wall at the climbing gym, to wake whenever my eyes damn well felt like it, and to feel like an airborne demon above the whirring wheels of my bicycle. And so much more. What was most important?
“I was thinking maybe if you’re going to blog again, you could write something about us. Y’know, our anniversary and everything.”
The sun came out and I warmed through and through. Five years might not be much to folks counting decades, but to me they are five intense and downright mystical loops around our star, growth in every direction (especially inward), and an expanse of golden glowing gratitudelove fit to make a fella burst.
I don’t know what to say to encompass the incomprehensible, the confounding and miraculous expanse of a relationship, all its joy and nerves, trepidation and exultation, surprising enlightenments and sacred mandanity. But I do know I’m grateful. For every step we’ve taken together, for every step that brought us to each other, and for the chance to be here, waking beside her to say “Five years ago, we met in that coffee shop…”
So hello America, I’m home. And happy anniversary L. We’re home.