Getting married, one year later

In a few days, I am going to celebrate my one year wedding anniversary.

I was never one of those girls who dreamed about getting married. In fact, I didn’t actually want to get married. I liked being totally independent, doing whatever the hell I wanted. A light sleeper, I couldn’t imagine sharing a bed with anyone. When I was younger, I was also more insecure, and I cringed at thinking about a man seeing me without makeup. I thought I would have to look good at all times or he would be totally turned off.

Maybe I have a higher level of testosterone, but I never craved intimacy or companionship. Nor did I want a different partner every night. I just didn’t mind being alone. I was just doing my thing. And I liked the spontaneity of my life as a young single girl in Las Vegas, and the fact that at any point in time, I could take off and move to Timbuktu.

Well, I did end up moving on a whim, to Miami. And I thought that my ‘young, wild and free’ lifestyle would continue, considering I was on South Beach. For about a month, as I met tons of random guys on the beach and palm-lined streets, I was heading in that direction. And then I met James.

Marriage does involve trade-offs. I did give up some of my freedom and some of that excitement that comes with not knowing where the night will take you and dancing til the sun comes up. Since I now have to think about things like the future, I can no longer just take off and move — although I still long to. I have to factor in his plans as well — his career, his obligations. And now I have a freaking pet, which is almost as bad as having a kid in terms of not being able to run off to Italy for a few months. Of course we can still party and we can still travel, but it’s just different. And I knew it would be.

I used to talk about this with my friend Emily, a wild redhead I used to party with in Vegas who just got married herself a month ago. We wondered if we would feel the same way at 33 as we did at 23. At what age would we get sick of dressing up and going out all night? Would we become cougars? We couldn’t imagine anything better than a night out on the town, getting tons of attention, feeling like goddesses.

But a couple years later, here we are. And we are both happy. Emily married an ornithologist and is about to spend a month backpacking through Eastern Europe. I am living in a cute art deco apartment right on the beach, with my sexy husband and adorable rabbit. And while I feel like I’ve had to give up certain things — as I think anyone who is married does, including sleeping with other people — here are some of the things that are nice:

He thinks I’m beautiful at all times, and tells me so. He rubs my feet, puts tanning oil on my back, gives me his opinions on all kinds of things from what to wear to what to do with my life, and agrees with me when I rant about the injustices of the world and the annoying habits of other people. He wants me to live my dreams. He would give up anything to make me happy. He makes me fresh-squeezed juice and fruit smoothies and macaroni and pretty much anything I ask him to, whenever I want it. He buys me presents. He loves my goofy side and all my quirks. We can share all sorts of inside jokes no one else would ever appreciate. He comforts me and praises me and makes me laugh and laugh at myself. He is someone to bike ride and kayak with and play Scrabble and paddleball with and do everything with. He understands me, not just the good things about me but the bad too. He makes me feel safe at night. He drives me around and pays bills and carries groceries and heavy things and fixes things and kills bugs and opens jars. He cleans and does dishes and works hard. He lets me nag him incessantly. He calls me out when I act like a spoiled brat. He sees me at my worst moments — when I’m being selfish or in the throes of PMS — and it’s okay. He accepts me at my strongest and my weakest. He is a hot date for anything — weddings, museums, dinners, parties, and yes, occasionally some dirty dancing in a nightclub. He tells me what looks good. He helps me to be less self-indulgent, and more selfless. To be more patient. He is someone to tell my dreams to, and fantasies, and fears. Someone to tell absolutely anything to. In short, he is my best friend.

And now, I find it hard to sleep alone. I like his scent and the touch of his skin. I like to feel his whiskers and muscles and rough large hands. I like knowing he is there beside me.

I know people who are both for marriage and against it. My little sister got married at 19 and now can’t wait to start a family. I know many women like this, who just love everything to do with weddings and marriage and family life and the home and domesticity. And there are others who wouldn’t dream of settling down, and who are living an awesomely adventurous lifestyle, traveling the world and partying every night.

I guess it’s hard to have it both ways, but maybe it’s possible. Maybe some day we can run off and travel the world together. At least we share the same dream, and we can make it happen together.

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