If there’s one thing I’ve learned in twenty years of blogging, it’s how to paint a pretty picture even when the source material is flawed and far from idyllic. I’ve taken gray days and made them shine, turned rainy vacations into sunny-spirited romps, and transformed the rattiest of outfits and surroundings into the stuff of sparkle and pizzazz. There is so much negative stuff everywhere else I try to offer an alternative of tranquility and serenity here, occasionally coupled with a laugh or ridiculous complaint. But there are darker and more somber and serious moments here, when real life interrupts how pretty we might want it to be, and sometimes that creeps into even the most happy of events, like our wedding anniversary. 

Rather than pretend it was all hearts and flowers and chocolate candy, I’m at the point where it’s a disservice to anyone looking for some real resonance or meaning in what I post here to feign some impossible idea of perfection or even a vague notion of prettiness when the heart feels anything but pretty or happy. 

A full Flower Moon and Mercury in retrograde motion made for a startlingly dismal crux of emotional crisis, and so it was that I arose on the Saturday of our anniversary weekend in Boston alone and without Andy. I wish I’d taken the astrological mayhem into account and backed down when our argument began to escalate, but sometimes we lose sight of things and get confused and accusatory in the moment.

As I puttered about the condo, and a beautiful spring day unfurled outside, almost exactly like it had thirteen years ago, I remembered something that Andy said to me early on in our relationship: “You’re not the man of my dreams but I fell in love with you anyway.“

He’d proclaimed those words in the impassioned heat of an argument and reconciliation, and if we could still be so fiercely affecting one another twenty-three years after we first met, then certainly that was a sign that we still vitally cared. 

Walking around Boston, I passed our favorite haunts, remembering all the moments we’d had here. With the tumult of the full moon behind us, things seems sillier and less portentous in the morning. The vast scope of a life shared offered perspective on a single fight, and the power of the bond of marriage bound us together even when we might disagree. 

I texted an apology to Andy – a rare but not entirely unprecedented act when I knew I had a hand in what had gone wrong. I said I was sorry, and then I wrote that we shouldn’t be alone and away from each other on our anniversary. My heart hurt with hope while I waited for a response.

It came a few minutes later, and he said he would come to Boston the next day. Then he sent his own apology, which may have been the best gift ever received for an anniversary. Thirteen years into our marriage, we are still learning, still trying to be better husbands. 

We had our fancy anniversary dinner at Rare, and the next morning we took our traditional stroll through the Boston Public Garden after having our wedding rings cleaned. Happiness had returned, like the waterfowl that honked and squawked on the water, and our hearts felt lighter than they had in days. The world had been righted for the moment. We’d had a less-than-ideal anniversary weekend, and it wasn’t a complete disaster. We survived, and the morning was beautiful.

Maybe there are those couples who have it entirely together and every moment is wonderful and dreamy and perfect. We are not one of those couples. We have to bicker and argue and be angry and upset and work it all out every once in a while. We have to let things go even when we are certain we are right and the other person is wrong. We have to forgive and acknowledge and accept, and decide whether it is still worth it to keep trying. Underneath it all is a foundation of love and care and commitment, and hopefully that is strong enough to see us through to get to more of the good stuff – the majority of peaceful and happy and calm days of living that makes the difficult parts as worth it as they are meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

Thirteen years into our marriage, and almost twenty-three into our relationship, we still have mostly good days and happy times. Laughing our way through the silliness and insanity of life, even and especially when our own foibles trip us up, even when we are the ones getting in our own way – that’s a wonderful gift to open up every day, so here’s to lucky #13 and all that we’ve already been through.

A curtain of willow branches closes out the morning and our time in the garden, and the rest is between me and Andy…