I was 37 when I got married for the first time. The only time. The last time. I had been waiting. Waiting for the perfect guy. Waiting for the perfect time.  That I didn’t find him until I was 35 is just the way fate works. It may have taken a long time, but the time and the guy turned out to be perfect, in a gloriously imperfect sort of way.

We’ve been married over 21 years now.  It’s been the journey of a lifetime with my best friend. We have had amazing adventures and lots of laughter; we’ve taken long walks and had longer talks; we’ve struggled with the nitty-gritty details of living and dreamed big, lifelong, life-changing dreams . . . and we’ve had our fair share of arguments which probably got a little too hot a few too many times — but when you live with someone (and raise children with them!), they’re bound to tie your shoestrings in a knot every now and then.  There have been many apologies and lots of forgiveness.  It’s been the very stuff of love.

Turns out, my perfect guy is oh-so imperfect, just like me. I love that about him. For example, it drives me crazy the way he splashes water all over the counters when he’s speeding through washing dishes — but I love that he washes dishes without thinking he’s just helping me out.  There are so many things I am grateful for even while there are so many things that drive me a little batty. I know he’d probably say the same thing.

I still can’t get over that we get to travel through this imperfect life together.  Sure, we do get tiny pebbles in our shoes every now and then; sometimes we have to stop and catch our breath — even more often the older we get; and we have had to clamber over some challenging boulders — but whoa the vistas we’ve enjoyed along the way.

So today, while I’m absolutely grateful for my husband, my best friend — I am very grateful for the way life offers up imperfect perfection. I wouldn’t have it any other way.