When I was 13 years old, I couldn’t imagine waiting until I was in my twenties to get married.
This was both because I was a romantic and because I was raised to believe that you shouldn’t have sex until you got married. At 13, I couldn’t imagine waiting seven or more years to have sex (twenty, I thought, was the minimum age you could conceivably get married). I somehow made it, and longer, which I think is a miracle.
My drop-dead-deadline for getting married was 25. I thought—again, at 13—that if I didn’t get married by then my life would effectively be over.
Talia and I got married June 5, 2011, a month and a half after my 25th birthday (phew, just made it).
Talia says any time anyone gets together it’s a miracle, and 24 I knew I needed a miracle. I was a weird person, and I knew finding a girl who was weird in mostly the same ways but a few different ways would take an act of God.
I would like to tell you the story of how it happened here—it’s a pretty great story—but it will have to wait for another post.
Getting married isn’t my best accomplishment.
I love my wife. All the clichés aren’t enough to say how much I love her, how grateful I am that she is mine and I am hers, how empty and broken my life would be without her. It’s cheesy and I’m embarrassed to write it but it’s true.
Our relationship is the foundation upon which most of my other accomplishments stand upon. I wouldn’t have become a father (obviously) or a business owner (less obviously but equally true) without her. Marrying Talia was the best thing to happen to me in my 20s.
But it’s not my best accomplishment because so much of it was outside of my control.
We met kind of by accident. We fell in love kind of by accident. I couldn’t control the fact that she was perfect for me, or that she loved me back. If I could control all of those things, I would feel prouder about it, but instead I just feel impossibly grateful.