Wanderlust

It was apparent fairly early on in my relationship with Mike that people began to realize that he was, well, different. That things were fairly serious. And that he was, quite possiblly, a permanent fixture my life.

And I remember very clearly having a chat with my mother in her kitchen, mugs of tea warming our cupped hands, and her asking, "So, do you think Mike is The One?"

I smiled, blushed, nodded, and went on at some length about how wonderful he was (I'll spare you the details).

But after a pause, I looked up and admitted that there was one thing that was a leetle bit of a concern. Kath looked at me with a furrowed brow, "Yes, dear? What is it?" She clutched her mug a little more tightly, waiting for me to reveal that he liked to wear women's underwear, or he was filing for bankruptcy, or he tortured small animals for pleasure.

"Well, Mom, he doesn't TRAVEL." She looked at me, perplexed, and nodded for me to go on.

"He's never left NORTH AMERICA," I explained. No response from my mother.

"I mean, he doesn't even have a PASSPORT!" I continued, convinced I was finally communicating the direness of the situation.

In her face, I saw utter bewilderment. And perhaps a little exasperation. It seems that maybe after 30+ years of marriage you start to think there are bigger fish to fry than disagreements about where to spend your next vacation.

But for me, the issue of travel seemed very real. When Mike and I first started dating, I don't think he had ever taken a vacation. Certainly not one that required the boarding of a plane. And as a result, he had weeks of vacation time socked away. I found this completely appalling. Why wouldn't one take a vacation? Why would you choose to go to work instead of go to a tropical island, or an exciting new country, or even just a cabin in the woods? What was wrong with this man?

But as differences go, I quickly realized that I could deal with this one. And in the first year of our relationship I took off and did some pretty intense solo traveling. And I came to terms with the possibility that my big trips may be behind me.

Then Mike proposed, and as a last hail mary pass, I decided to book a trip to Ireland for his Christmas present. In my twisted little brain I just couldn't envision getting married before Mike had acquired a passport.

To my utter surprise and delight, Mike loved it. I cannot express to you how happy it made me to sit next to him as he drove our tiny, tiny little rental car, on the wrong side of the road, through the narrow country lanes of Ireland. He frolicked with sheep. He drank Guinness. He bought aran sweaters.

And on the trip I realized that Mike and I are still growing. That we still have much to teach each other. And that there is no one I would rather be on this journey with.

Oh, and also, that maybe I should keep my inane concerns to myself so as not to anger family members.    (Sorry, Mom.)

2 Years Down

Today is the 2 year anniversary of our first date. We remember so vividly because it was game 7 of the 2010 NBA finals (Celts lost. Boo.). Since this is the last year we’ll be celebrating this particular anniversary (3/31/12 will become the obligatory anniversary date from now on and I can’t remember more than one date. It's like a mental block.), I thought it was appropriate to sit down and look back on the past 2 glorious years of coupledom. 

I should point out that Mike hates the idea of celebrating anniversaries because he thinks it is forced and arbitrary. He dislikes milestone birthdays for the same reason. I’m from another school of thought. I appreciate these markers in time, however arbitrary they may be, because they provide an opportunity for reflection. So put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mike!

The last 2 years have been busy. We started dating, discovered we could stand each other, moved in together, got engaged, planned a wedding, and got married. Mike also changed jobs (twice!), became a pet owner, joined two new gyms, and discovered a love of Cambridge and hipster shoes (“They are just so comfortable,” he says in his defense). I started dabbling in grad classes, did a lot of traveling, and got bangs. 

Along the way, we’ve had some really great moments. Enjoying the best risotto of our lives in Boothbay harbor, eating seafood on the water in Newport, wine tastings in Sonoma, drinking pints of Guinness in Galway, and champagne in the middle of the street in Paris. 

But perhaps more memorable are the regular, day-to-day moments of our lives. Taking Oscar to Fresh Pond. Walking to Harvard Square to grab a drink or sit in Harvard Yard to read. Lying on our couch on a Sunday afternoon napping to the dulcet tones of golf. All the dinners at home, and the quick phone calls to check in, and the goodbye kisses before work. And the heated discussions and crossed-armed arguments (let’s be real, it ain’t all roses all the time). 

These years have passed quickly, and I’m told the pace will only pick up once we procreate and I become a soccer mom. But right now, this life we have is pretty great, and I hope we can enjoy being married and selfish for a little while longer.  

Last night we celebrated by going to one of our favorite restaurants and doing what we like best... sitting at the bar, having a beer, eating delicious breadsticks, and splitting a potato pizza. Oh, and talking. Mike commentating about golf, mostly, but also just chatting about our day and our lives and our future. I wish I could take last night and shove it in a time capsule and bury it in our backyard under the oak tree. But since I can’t do that, I hope that I can at least remember that feeling. The feeling of being newly-married, content, and full of potato pizza.