How to give a wife the CHEAPEST anniversary gift possible.
I celebrated my nine year wedding anniversary.
Emotions stir in my stomach, as my morning is dominated by anxious thoughts coupled with nervous responses to the countless texts, phone calls, and reminders. I’ve spent six and a half years prepping for this moment, but damn, another twenty hours wouldn’t hurt. Almost a year before, I got down on one knee in my childhood room, promising to love my wife forever, convincing myself I could take the next step, but nothing prepares you for how high that step actually is. Am I really ready?
It’s my wedding day, and even after years of preparation, I still don’t feel ready by the time best man knocks at my apartment door. Slowly, the rest of the grooms men trickles in (surprisingly on time) to my tiny flat. There’s no choice but to straighten my back, crack jokes, and put on a brave face.
Hours later, after all the fussing—arguing with family members about where they can and can’t sit, finding parking spots, negotiating with the bridal party, etc.—I settle at the front of the altar, still unsure of what I’m doing here.
I’m ready to get married; there’s no denying that fact. But it only dawned on me a few hours ago that I haven’t asked myself if I’m ready to be a husband, a partner, a teammate—we don’t even have joint bank accounts. Where are my reference points? My father? Grandfather? Uncle Phil? It’s a mess of certainty and confusion—until I see her.
She glides down the aisle, family and friends filling the pews, her mum by her side. She’s like a princess swimming in an ocean of white frills as the dress flows around her. Despite the whole world gathering around us, I only see her, and I pray she sees me. It’s a strangely comforting, but awkward anticipation, we planned this moment, we are supposed to enjoy it, why am I so nervous? My vision struggles to stay clear, but through my pending tears, we make eye contact, and I see her—my wife. I am not ready.
This is before everything: the house, career changes, family dramas, life choices with consequences none of us can fathom, funerals that will take away some of the joy, and the triumphs that will bring even more. I am not ready for this.
Yet, as I lock eyes with my wife, closer with each step she takes, it’s like a lyric from Destiny's Child's "Brown Eyes":
I know that he loves me 'cause it's obvious
I know that he loves me 'cause it's me he trusts
And he's missing me if he's not kissing me
And when he looks at me, his brown eyes tell it so
I will never be ready for this, but her eyes convince me that, while I don’t know the outcome of this decision, I trust the person I’m making it with.
Up until the moment my wife takes her place by my side, I remind myself that I’m not ready for what life has in store—but I’m ready to face it with her.
That was nine years ago. It hasn’t been easy—life’s unpredictable, obstacles, the tests and trials along our journey—but when it gets tough, I’m able to reset and remind myself that we promised to figure it all out together.
Marriage doesn’t prepare you for life, but it gives you a partner to handle whatever life throws at you.
Nine years later, it is still one of the best decisions I have ever made.
A couple of years ago, after having kids, we decided to take turns planning our anniversary. It reduced the pressure on me this year, but it’s definitely doubling the pressure for our tenth anniversary.
I still wanted to make her a gift. Instead of describing it, I made a little video, and she really liked it.
My last post on September 4th was a podcast-newsletter hybrid. Did you guys like it? (Did anyone listened to it? I liked it.) It’s not easy to write about the struggles of marriage while simultaneously enjoying and navigating it. I’m not an expert—that’s my signature statement. This newsletter is a project born out of my love for improving as a writer and sharing with others. Even my book, The Book You Wish You Had Read Before Marriage was inspired by my entrepreneurial itch to create. Basically, I’m trying apologies for the long hiatus since my last post. I keep asking y’all to send me submissions—please hit me up at booksarebloodyboring@gmail.com so I have more stories to share.