Today is our ninth anniversary, and we have just landed in the Amalfi Coast, which is not a bad place to spend an anniversary. In fact, Amalfi has been on my bucket list for about as long as I can remember, and isn't it just like Trevor Noel to keep making all my dreams come true? To tell the truth, though, he is "my world, my true". No matter where I am, there my world is; we just happen to like exploring this earth together.
In keeping with tradition, this year is the year of pottery. I suppose the exchanging of gifts will wait until we return home because I can't imagine trying to transport something breakable in our already stuffed suitcases from now until we head back to Colorado. Nonetheless, physical presents or not, I like to use the tradition to consider the milestone of another year as a couple.
So what does a pottery love look like? I imagine the first thing that comes to mind is the fragility of it. It's not wrong--pottery is fragile, just like love is. Both take really extraordinary vision, skill, and attention to detail. You do those things, you create something brilliant. If you don't, if you don't put in the time and the patience, if you apply pressure in all the wrong places, if you don't refine with fire, you'll never get to the beautiful glossy stage. You'll wind up with a hundred sharp, useless pieces instead.
My ruminating didn't really end on the delicacy of our love though. Surely, it's something I want to care for and be careful with; but after nine years, you feel much stronger than that. No, at nine years, your love is pottery because of the process. The last several years have been nothing close to normal. Even in their sparkly moments, they've not been your average soup bowl. Instead, with his hands and mine, Trevor and I have thrown at the wheel until we've come up with something that is uniquely ours. We have created a life together.
At this point in our marriage, what I love most is recognizing how we have become one. We are the team. Sure, we have mentors and role models and influencers in our lives; but those aren't the hands at work in shaping the life we live. Ours are, mine and Trevor's. When you stand face-to-face and you say "I do," what you're really promising is, "In this life, it's you and me, love, right until the end."
And I feel that, I truly do. In the last several years, we've heard all the opposition to what we're building--don't move to New York! don't move back to Colorado! you can't start a business! what do you mean you're homeschooling the girls? people don't just move out of their houses and travel the world! But in these things, and pretty much all major life decisions, Trevor and I have always been in agreement, even when others don't understand. He is one hand and I am the other, and here we sit at our wheel, working with what we've got and shaping it into something lovely and meaningful. Sometimes it's hard to tell what it's becoming, the wheel spins so quickly. We've watched all of our hard work collapse into a mushy lump and have had to start again more than once. We take the heat of those forging fires and sweat it out, and though nine years isn't such a long time, I'm starting to see that glossy sheen over the parts that we've for sure gotten right. Of course, nothing is perfect, but it's ours; and doesn't it feel good when you set your hand to something and call it your own?
Nine years, I haven't had to do it alone. I have the perfect privilege of living and of deciding how to live; and I have gotten to do that with a teammate who sees the world like I do and who finds pleasure in making my dreams his own and in sharing his with me. To say that, that's worth braving all the toil and fire, and Trevor, I can't wait to keep watching our little pottery collection grow. I can't wait to keep making things with you.
See all of our wedding photos at Lauren Stocker Photography.