This is the first day of my life. Swear I was born right in the doorway. I’ve always been a wanderer at heart. As much as I like the idea of settling down, burying roots in the ground, and becoming an integral part of some place—some home—I realized at an early age that new places and experiences were even more important to me. New Mexico. Arizona. Florida. New York. Pennsylvania. California. Nevada. Always on the road, on the go; always believing in tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. I thought I would feel torn by these two desires for the rest of my life: a need for place and a need for space. It was an impossible dichotomy. Until the day, eleven years ago, when you came into my life and bridged the divide. With some surprise, I realized home is not a place. We’ve buried our roots in each other so that, now, when every day feels new and every decision seems to lead through a new door, I’m always and ever at home with you. You are the roots that sleep beneath my feet and hold the earth in place.
I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed. They’re spreading blankets on the beach. It’s easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of life’s events. As the years have passed, we’ve been witness to new births and new marriages. We’ve seen lives end and begin, relationships start and fail. We’ve cried with friends, fought with each other, and persevered in the face of those who would prefer we didn’t exist at all. So many times, our sunny days have become stormy and dark; and more often, our cloudy skies have been pushed away by the winds of love and laughter. After more than a decade together, if I’ve learned anything at all, I’ve learned this: we’ve never been great at predicting the future, but we’ve got a perfect record of facing it together. And all the roads we have to walk are winding. And all the lights that lead us there are blinding. But after all, you’re my wonderwall.
Yours was the first face that I saw. I think I was blind before I met you. The perpetual bachelor. That’s how I saw myself. I had no dreams or illusions about finding that “someone special”; in fact, for a long time, I convinced myself that that kind of life, that kind of romance, was antithetical to my personality, and that I would be better off alone. But one late-summer day, you walked into my bookstore, of all places. You were wearing a tie someone else had tied for you, fashioned with spiky, gelled hair and a perfect, beautiful smile. You were loud and you were shy; you were flirtatious and affectionate; you were naïve and romantic. I hated every bit of it. And I fell madly for you. Once, so arrogantly, I thought I knew it all. In that moment, I realized I had never known anything. The idea of soul mates is still a strange one to me, and I continue to be embarrassed by public displays of affection. Maybe some things never change, but since I met you, I’m open to every possibility. Take me by the hand and tell me you would take me anywhere.
I don’t know where I am, I don’t know where I’ve been, but I know where I want to go. I’ve never been a very good planner. As each year comes to an end and a new one begins, I tell myself that I will do a better job of it all: planning, scheduling, budgeting. Making lists and checking boxes. Keeping in touch with old friends and family, and spending time appreciating the now. But I’ve never quite managed to follow through. In one way, though, I think I’ve figured things out. Even if I can’t quite plan for the future, I know there’s a bright and beautiful one ahead. There’s adventure to come, new sights and sounds to experience, and new people to meet. I also know that, before you, my heart wasn’t in it. I was a kind of dead man walking, going through the motions in a haze of superficiality. You inspired me with the courage to take the first step, and it has been you in every step along the way. So, put your body next to mine and dream on.
But now I don’t care, I could go anywhere with you. And I’d probably be happy. I tease you about turning thirty and about getting older in general. This is easy for me, considering I’m 4 years older than you. And you’ll probably hate me for making this whole thing public. For both of these things, I’d like to apologize. I can’t help being a little bit selfish today, on your birthday, in sharing my love for you with the world. If something were to happen to me, what I would most hope the world could know about me, is you. My hopes and my dreams, my ambitions and successes, are wrapped-up in the wildness and the balance and the inspiration of you. Remember our proposal video, and the story that I wrote? The final scene shows us together, well-aged in some far distant future, but together. I know you feel anxious about getting older, but I’m so excited for it. I was a simple blank before you, a man standing alone in the wind, pretending that was his destiny. A man with goals but no vision; a man with desires but no drive. You made me come alive. And now, I’m so alive. If growing older means one more day, or ten thousand more, of being alive like this, with you, then bring on the future. And when one or both of us is gone, then I believe the fierce energy of us will burst into the atmosphere and live on, playfully, in the love that surrounds everything, in the love that lives in everything, and in the love that makes worth it, everything.
Happy birthday, darling.