When I was single, I generally hated seeing social media and other posts about people getting engaged and being madly in love. Alas, I guess I’ve become one of those people, though I don’t mind that much.
For most of my adult life, I never thought I’d get married and settled down. My mental health was always precarious, and my early twenties were filled with addiction and psych ward visits. I did have long-term relationships, but the inevitably failed for various reasons. This time around with Rachel has been different. Perhaps it’s because I’m getting older (I turned 36 this week).
I met Rachel about four years ago right after my dad died, and a part of me just knew she was the one for me. She had just gotten divorced and out of a bad marriage, and I stumbled into her arms from my own craziness. Our relationship has been rocky at times, mostly because I would feel the need to run. I don’t know where those commitment issues come from, but they’ve calmed down lately.
I feel secure with Rachel, and I feel like we’re a team. I’m not an easy person to be with; neither of us is perfect. But I think we’re perfect for each other. We both have a few screws loose, we’re a bit weird, but our particular brands of weirdness are compatible. That’s what love is, I think.
I proposed in Central Park in New York City. She knew it was coming eventually; we’ve been talking and planning this for a little bit. The world is a bit crazy right now, so we’re also impatient to make things official and have a legal partnership. I never thought I’d be this excited to be engaged, but I am.
I’m also happy that we got to do this in NYC. It’s a great memory that we’ll have forever, and the 4th of July will carry more meaning for us now. So, on to the wedding planning (a small one) and the years ahead, through good times and bad times, ’til death do us part.