Time, by virtue of marching forward, gives us the opportunity to look back throughout the year and celebrate what came before. In writing, there are all kinds of anniversaries to toast – a first book, a first fan, a first sentence that took you into your own world for the very first time.

I wish I’d marked more of those for myself, if only because those dates would serve as mile-markers on the journey – not that you can’t turn anything into a journey if you try, but work with me here. Point being: it’s hard to measure progress if you’re not sure where you began. So, note it.

Anyway. I’m writing this from a hotel half a country away from my wife, Nicole, with whom the date of August 26th, 2017 went from a random dot on the calendar to the pinpoint moment in all of cosmic history the two of us joined hands in front of people we loved and said we, too, would love each other. It’s the kind of sentiment that conquers physical distance, the kind of promise that keeps a lonely evening from getting too chilly, the kind of dedication that prompts posts like this one because you want to take some time to write about the one who means so much to you.

It’s so easy to mark our lives with moments of change – the new house, the job change, the meeting of that special someone – but harder to recognize how those moments actually changed us. Personally, I know these words wouldn’t be here, those books wouldn’t be out there, if not for Nicole. But more than that, it’s the every day constant of her being that suffuses me with confidence, courage, and the determination to keep on, well, keeping on.

We celebrate our anniversary on August 26th. I love her every day.

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