Around this time last year, I was in a slightly different place in my world. I had been in Calgary for four months with plans of not staying longer than a year. Work two jobs, make bank during stampede, and then peace out and head to India, Cambodia, or Europe. I planned on being a professional work-away-er; working on farms and with small business in exchange for room and board. I would go wherever the winds blew me, meeting new faces, exploring old countries, and finding myself as I ran from it all.
It was all very romantic in my mind. However, a different kind of romance was headed my way. One I didn’t believe in and had no interest in hoping for. It happened at my friends birthday party, a bunch of strangers out for drinks, each person only knowing one or two others in this group of 9 or 10. No one stood out to me, there was no initial spark or eyes connecting across the crowded room. Instead, a tall, dark haired man with a gap-toothed boyish smile told me he liked my cowboy boots. I told him I liked his. And so began our story.
That night we talked about music. It was a topic he is passionate about and he talked about bands like he was close friends with each of the members. He had a personality and was passionate about something and that intrigued me.
At the end of the night, he asked for my number and said he’d call me for dinner the following week. In the next month we went for dinner (months later he confessed he hated the shirt I wore that night and thought I had a weird sense of fashion, But he asked for another date.) We went skating, where he pushed me into a snowbank. (third date.) And we went two-stepping with my friends where I was the hyper-est, excited Sarah I could be. (He kissed me goodnight in front of people after I was the most homeschooled sober person at the bar. It was that night that I decided he was either really cool or really desperate.)
We became friends without mentioning family, religion, or politics.
We remained friends after mentioning disabilities, divorces, and my interesting family tree. ( half siblings, full siblings, step siblings, step dad, ex-step cousin, un-official-step-mom, etc) and, after finding that the other person had weird habits or confusing pet peeves, we stuck around, because thats what friends do.
We listen to each other, because even though his job is forever going to make zero sense in my head, he needs to vent.
We talk with each other, because even though the first five minutes of my story seem like they are going nowhere, I know he will laugh at the punchline.
We dress up for each other because we love acknowledging that we are damn good-looking couple.
We dress down for each other because if one is in sweats and a hoodie, and the other is looking respectable, its just not fair.
He cooks for me because he’s a better chef.
I bake for him because I know cookies are his weakness, after chips.
I’m fun, he’s funny. When he’s tired, I’m awake, and when I’m serious, he’s giggly.
We are one of the most “opposites” couples I have ever seen but it works. We balance.
He’s cool and I’m awkward. He grew up with hockey and I grew up with books. Picture those two personalities dating and viola! You have us.
We’re friends. We’re an “us.” and we’ve been an “us” for a year now.
To celebrate, we went out for Indian food and beer.
relationship= summed up.
One day at a time, World.
I miss you. All my love,