Dulywed: Year 1

Dear Mack,

You finally left to help your Mom & Dad with their Craigslist posts so I finally have a chance to ponder our first legal year of marriage in the peace and quiet of a dog chewing itself and a cat crunching dry morsels of food.

I didn't know it at the time, but our plan to get married over Thanksgiving weekend was sheer genius. Most of my genius moves happen accidentally, but having this whole weekend to realize our relationship is one of the smartest things I've done. We've been able to spend the last three days together, like 100% together, and, much to my surprise, I haven't wanted to scream, "Shut up and die!!" even once. We are healthier than I thought.

It's been a challenging year for us. I've been jealous of you going to school while I work a lot of times, and because I am only human and new to this whole selfless wife partnership supportive thing, I've probably been ruthless about it more than once. I just want you to know that more than I feel jealous, I feel so grateful to you for working so hard to make our lives better. I know that I won't remember this frustration once we get the life we're working toward, and I hope you don't remember it either. I'm sorry for all the times I've yelled at you about money (and all the times I will), and I'm sorry for all the times I've made you feel like you aren't doing enough. I know that this is about give and take, and the only reason I'm having trouble with the giving is because for a long time I was the taker... because you were so generous and supportive of me in my dreams. You are better than me at insecurity, especially financial insecurity, but I'm trying to learn how to stop insecurity from getting in the way of doing what you want. I've only been challenged to learn this in my first year of marriage to you, so thanks for your patience as I, a notorious control freak, learn to embrace uncertainty. I'm proud to be helping you be the man you want to be, and I hope that in Year 2 we win the lottery.

I can't believe that this whole entire year we've only uttered the words "divorce" and "leave" 5 times. I thought it would be a lot more than that, to be honest. I know I've said both, probably because they seem nicer than "die" and "rot," especially in the heat of the moment, but in all honesty, I never want you to leave. Never, ever, ever. Being with you the last three days has proven that to me. Without work, without school, without worries about money, when it's just me and you and being alive, we are impossibly happy. You are the funniest person I've ever met. You are a thrill to talk to. You are adorable to look at. You are smart and sharp and hopeless. You are the man of my dreams, and even though I want to stab the parts of your brain that have the parts that make me scream at you, overall you are perfect. If you were any nicer, you'd be miserable. If you were any meaner, I'd be miserable. We are dangerously and miraculously balanced.

The thing I've really discovered in this first year with you is that for the first time in my entire life I can be 100% who I am around you. If I feel sad or angry or ecstatic or curious or contrary, I can share it with you and trust you with it. I have a lot of relationships with a lot of people, but no one gets the extent of me that you do (which is probably why I am able to maintain those relationships with them). I can't imagine being in a relationship where you have to maintain facades or ideals, and with you, I can just be myself -- in all its beauty and shame and glory and fear and nervousness. You have no idea how precious a gift this is for you to give me, and I hope that I offer something similar to you. Considering I know the smells you are capable of, I think I do.

The walks on the beach, not saying anything; the time spent laying on the couch so close that I can't tell where my skin ends and yours begins; the constant hum of noise that is you living; the laughs that are so deep they make me drool on myself; the kitchen dances; the spicy fruit cups; the unexpected Internet news bits; the wait-it-out tactic to see who heats up the bed first. I try to imagine what my life would be like if you weren't in it and the thought is so terrible and so foreign, I want to die.

It may seem cryptic, but I think that's a good indicator of a successful first year. I love you more than me. Happy anniversary.