And of course. Dirty Dancing. I am a child of the eighties, after all.
Six years ago today I met my husband, Justin, on a blind date. I had just moved to Austin and knew only a handful of people. And a mutual friend set us up. I was super skeptical at first, and it was my first blind date ever. But let’s face it. I was approaching 30 and had a trail of failed relationships behind me. I was ready to try something new.
And then I met him. My hesitation quickly turned to excitement. He wore a tie like an old-fashioned gentleman, but paired it with the cutest indie-rocker glasses. And then he did something amazing. He talked about the latest Andrew Sullivan article and chatted it up about literature (translation: he can read! He does read!!). And he insisted that the band he played in was just a hobby – he was not an “I’m hoping to make it big one day with my band” kind of guy.
My assessment after thirty minutes: He’s hip and fun; can talk about current politics like a gentleman and has an opinion on Shakespeare. And best of all, he had a career. And he said he loved it!
“Oh my god,” I thought. I’ve finally found a man. Not a boy. A man! I had heard of these before, but they always seemed like some apparition from times past. Something that existed back in the 1950’s but faded away and slowly died out in recent decades. That elusive mixture of a real man who is also totally chill hanging out with an opinionated, strong woman like me. I didn’t scare him with Plato or freak him out that I rattled on and on about the current political climate in China (because, yes, that had actually happened on a date I had a few weeks earlier).
In other words, we fit.
So we kept going out. We got married. We moved across the world to China. We moved back. We moved back to Asia. We came back. Yes, in short, we fit. And the best part?! He lets me take pictures of him. All the time. Everywhere.
Thank you, Justin, for six wonderful years. For bike rides in Cambodia and mountain climbs in Vietnam. And being the best second shooter a photographer could ever ask for.
Happy six-year anniversary, Love.
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