Reflections of a man who has somehow been married for 25 years

There are two amazing things about the fact that my 25th wedding anniversary is coming up in a few days:

   (1) Twenty-five years is a long time. I can't believe it has been 25 years.
   (2) Even after that quarter-century, every morning I wake up and look to my left and my wife is still there.

If I were in her shoes, I might have bolted by now.

Well, not really.

I think.

I mean, my general impression these past 2½ decades has been that she is as happy with the overall state of things as I am. As far as I can tell, she's as much with the program as me.

But then, I know myself. And honestly, I would probably get a little irritated living with me every day. I'm very well-intentioned – maybe too much so. I suspect my constant earnest attempts at being agreeable could verge on "grating" from time to time.

So occasionally I worry she'll wake up herself one day, look to her right, see me there, and it will finally dawn on her that maybe she married down. Or at least that she just didn't make the best long-term choice when she married at the age of 23.

And then suddenly that space to my left will be empty.

Which, OK, is a stupid way to think. You don't live life in fear of "what if." You live in celebration of "what is."

And "what is" is pretty darn good, let me tell you.

I have said this before but it bears repeating, and I've always meant it in all sincerity: I won the Matrimonial Lotto. And I did it at the age of 16. That's when this wonderful woman and I first got together.

At the time, of course, I had no idea we would get to this point. I only knew that this pretty girl had decided that maybe I was sufficiently presentable to go out with, which was more than enough to make my clueless 16-year-old self happy.

And I've pretty much stayed that way ever since: happy.

I complain, of course, because that's what we do as human beings. No matter how good we've got it, there's a part of us that wants to complain about something. Anything, really. It just makes us feel better, I guess?

But when it comes down to it, I have no room to complain. I am wildly and undeservedly blessed, and it starts with the woman on the other side of that bed.

I have, in the wise words of Stevie Nicks, built my life around her. At some point I figured out she was a person worth doubling down on, so I did.

And the payoff has been, by all accounts, tremendous.

My wife is my best friend. She is beautiful both inside and out. She is funny (something that took her years to realize about herself), smart, loving, loyal, dedicated and an absolute joy to be around.

I don't just say these things because it happens to be a milestone anniversary for us, or because tonight we're having a blowout party in our backyard to which absolutely anyone who reads this is invited. I say them because they are true, and because in saying them, I force myself to realize the true meaning of "grace" in my life. God has given her to me not because I "earned" such a blessing, but pretty much just because He loves me despite the fact that I'm a big giant goof.

So today I celebrate all that is right with my life – which is to say, just about everything – and it starts with the beautiful young woman in the white dress who said "I do" 25 years ago.

That was one giant risk she took, and I only hope I can supply some small return on her investment of trust in me.