You know, I'm not much of a romantic. When I was a little girl I *never* imagined myself married (legally or otherwise). A mother...maybe. But not partnered with a man. I was determined not to fall in love, to never depend too much on a lover, and to never become weak in the knees.
Now, you have to understand, I wasn't exactly a typical teenager when I met my (now) husband. I had dropped out of school and was living some version of a artist-punk-vagabond fantasy when I saw my very dirty, very crass, very bunged up dream boat on a street corner. My goodness, one look in those eyes and I was beyond smitten. As a joke, I turned to my girlfriend and said, "Ooooho, I'm going to marry him". Ain't life funny. I think the universe has had a good laugh over THAT one.
We were friends for a while, and then when we both became single we started dating (read: were travel partners with benefits). Sure, by this time I had big feelings but I had also stashed 16 exit plans and kept one foot in the door. Imagine my discomfort (and butterflies) when he professed his love.
Some serious dysfunction and a few months later finds me pregnant, twenty dollars to our name, and on an island in the pacific. Back home we had two dogs and a moldy, mouse infected school bus which we called home. So that was the beginning of our domestic adventures.
I'll spare you the gory details (of which there have been MANY) and jump to present moment. Here we are, all settled down, living in our own home and raising two littles. I tell you what B., we have been through hell and high water in the past years. Poverty, addiction, family of origin blowouts, health issues, a baby, kinship care, marriage, recovery, and the daily commitment of yes, today I still choose to be with you. Today I'll hold your hand. Today I'll wake up next to you and tonight I'll go to sleep with your arms around me.
And at this point, I'll admit (begrudgingly!) that yes, I think I am with my true love. My man and I have few things in common and had planned only as far as our next meal when we shared our first kiss. But somehow, as a result of luck, grace, and grueling effort, we've made it and stayed together. And not for the worse, mind you, we are much stronger, much (much!) healthier people than when we met. Through each other we were given an opportunity to work through our baggage. Not that we're perfect or have reached some destination, but shoot, we only get happier and stronger by the day.
I trust him and can count on him - and my love for him gives me courage to drop down into myself in ways that are utterly terrifying.
I don't know if we're each other's ONE true love - (no guaranty in this life) but I do deeply hope that in fifty years time, you'll find us with our legs dangling in the water, cracking a fart joke.
We weren't supposed to be where we are now (statistically speaking, that is). And when we talk about it now (Why us? How'd this miracle happen? Why are we so lucky/blessed?) we agree that love has something to do with it. He says that this love changed his heart and made him hopeful. When I'm with him, it's like being home.
I don't know. I still prefer a picnic on the beach matched with some good snorting-laughs to a fancy candle lit dinner, and I'm not going to say there is one truth for everyone, but that's my story and how I see my situation. Despite my best efforts, I believe in 'twin flames' and all that jazz, or at least the power of love.