Z and I don’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day. That’s a story for another time. But sometimes I’m caught off guard by how much I love this man.
There are lots of moments when it’s difficult; we are very different people. But there are also moments when it makes sense. Like this afternoon, which started at SweetWater brewery and ended, unexpectedly, at the Piedmont Driving Club. A club that admitted it’s first black member in 1994. I’ll just let that date sink in. Sometimes the truth of history in this place almost knocks the wind out of me.
I love him because he understands people. Because he doesn’t hate. Because he can have a conversation about business, about politics, about theater. Because he’ll even entertain a conversation about the problems with the system for reserving squash courts, all the while understanding that the people he’s talking to are frantically trying to grab for the sand that’s slipping through their fingers.
I love him because he inhabits so many worlds. Because he keeps me honest and expects me to do the same for him. Because he has so much to teach me. Because he will hold his tongue until the valet brings our car and we both just start laughing. Because he won’t let that laughter turn into its own variety of superiority and condescension. Because when it matters he won’t hold his tongue at all.
I am not expressing what I mean to well. I only mean to say that there are moments—or days—when I am reminded why I married this man. With Z, they are rarely the day-to-day moments, but when they come, I am bowled over. Today was one of those days.