Nathan and I are exhausted from being up late last night. Between earthquakes and tornadoes, home disaster drills and chasing puppies out of the garden, life has been way too exciting around here.
There is a shifting happening, one so subtle we cannot yet see it unfolding. But we can feel it. I am working less and less, focusing specifically on my contract work or good peeps who really are working hard. I am more selective in what I write for whom, and better at picking fun things like cookbook reviews for Deseret News. We continue to work out at the gym, but 5k season is here and Nathan keeps surprising me with long walks at my river downtown. I am settling into being home a little more, while Nathan is starting to get connected in his new world here. I have my pile of books, but he is suddenly the one spinning a hundred plates in the air.
It is as it should be.
I am proud of him, and I love him. I look at him while he is doing theatre things, or watch him write, or listen to him play violin (I can never breathe when he does), or hear him sing to me. Sometimes I just close my eyes, and he spells essays into my hands. He is good to me.
Even if fancypants himself goes back to New York next week, preparing for casting and meeting with friends in between rewrites and copy work. I am excited for him, but I will miss him every moment he is gone.
How did we ever do it before, from so far away?
How did we ever do it, those hard years before it was our turn to rediscover each other in mortality?
He gave me a blessing tonight, and we cried and cried.
It has been a year since we first began talking, six months since we were married. So much has happened, and it has made us strong. We know our love is real because this is the plan of happiness, not just be wise we are sappy newlyweds.
But we are sappy still, and ballroom dancing night is always our favorite night.