kayfromhome

Let’s face it.  Valentine’s Day can be really taxing.  There’s pressure from all sides.  For those in an undefined relationship, there’s pressure to commit. For those in a committed relationship, there’s pressure to out-buy, and out-perform.  Finally, for those who aren’t in relationships, there’s the onslaught of happily committed couples around every corner, oozing affection, like a big slap in your already-over-it face. 

I’m sorry, friend.  Maybe this particular post isn’t for you. 

Not to parade my own ‘Happily Ever After,’ but I’d like to announce that wedding planning is going well, and we’re in the double digits til the big “I DO” day.  In the spirit of love (and in my usual conversational tone) I’d like to introduce you to our origin story.  Mine and Daniel’s, that is. 

The Story of Us. 

I have tried, time and again, to write our story.  I’ve learned it’s the things that mean the most that are the easiest, or the hardest to write… and this hasn’t been easy.  

I suppose every day love stories are built up of moments that would appear insignificant to an outsider, but mean the world to those who live them.

I’m sure I could regale you with stories about how Daniel first spotted me across a crowded room in 2009, smitten before he even knew my name.  Or, I could tell you all about how I complimented his Anberlin shirt on Labor Day weekend in 2010, just before I tricked him into asking me for my phone number.  I suppose I could tell you about 2011, the year we went our separate ways.  Or, about the time in 2012, when I was losing my faith and Daniel gently helped me find it in an empty chapel. 

I could tell you all about how he randomly sent me a picture of himself in a dog suit in 2013, sparking unrelated conversation and a HIMYM marathon that ended with a twist.  Or, how I snubbed him in 2014, because I was in a bad place… Even though he rescued me a year later because I was in over my head.

I could tell you about how Daniel “accidentally” butt-dialed me in 2015, while I was crying on a couch with a bowl of ice cream, watching Drop Dead Diva.  Not to mention the countless selfies, video wars, postcards, packages, international FaceTimes, inside jokes, half-birthdays and late night phone calls that ensued thereafter.

I could tell you about how we were convinced that we were friends, who were seriously just friends. Good friends. Always friends.

Until the summer of 2016, when friendship wasn’t enough anymore and courage overwhelmed us.  I’m sure I could bore you with details of how, against the odds, we overcame terrible foes—time and distance—resulting in a 2017 proposal and a 2018 wedding.

I mean, I could.

But those details probably won’t mean as much to you as they do to us.  Not really.  

How do you fit years worth of meaningful nothings (that eventually became everything) into a readable, bite-sized, 750-word format?  If there’s a way, it’s a skill I’ve not yet mastered. 

In the end, our love is best summarized as we played at the long game, and won.  Our story was 8 years in the making.