My vows to Jon

At our wedding

I'm notorious in our relationship for having the same conversation with Jon, and half-way through he says to me, “you already told me this.” And I say, “ I did?” Well, I'm going to tell a story that I know I've told you before, Jon, but I haven't told anyone else.

When I think about the time I fell in love with you, I'm always stuck and confused. It may have been our first date, as hard as I tried not to fall in love. It may have happened on that first date after I sniffed your shoulder for some weird reason, or after you made a sarcastic joke and I smacked your arm-- a sure sign on my part that I fancied you. Or it could have been during the most awkward hug in history after that first date, where we barely touched shoulders and our butts were sticking out.

I may have also fallen in love with you on our second date, after a week of chatting on the phone, internet, texting, where there was so much electricity in the air that we could power a small machine. Every corner we took in the art museum I could see sparks flying, and that minute you grasped my hand to run up the hill was like magic. There, on that hill, you fed me all of my favorite fruits and kissed the sweetest, most charming and impish kiss I've ever kissed.

I might have also fallen in love with you during our boat adventure that Grandma and Grandpa D saw take place on their docks, where we took a little antique motorized fishing boat out to a deserted island and found treasures and secrets lying in the sand. Or I could have also finally fell in love when we camped out on the beach, lying in the sand and staring up at shooting stars. That morning when we woke up to watch the sun rise and I was as grumpy as ever, I knew that what was happening was something special.

In all actuality, it was none and all of the those moments. While I like to think love runs up like a quick little bunny, it actually grows slowly and steady, like a turtle. It grows when you encouraged me to continue researching feminist issues, and when you remind me to bring my camera along to various adventures and non-adventures. It grows when you don't care and, in fact, want me to leave you for four or five days at a time to camp in the woods with some of my favorite ladies. It also grows when you constantly remind and suggest to me to do yoga to help calm my mind and give strength to my body, and it grows when you support my vegetarianism despite the fact that you have and will eat any type of meat. My love grows when you encourage and inspire my intellectual passions, pushing and helping me to apply to a graduate program up in Boston. Your unrelenting guidance to help me become the person that I wanted to be showed me how much you cared about my mind as much as you cared about my person. It also grows when you hug me as I cry after we said goodbye to all of our friends we made in Boston, and as you cup my head in your hands and tell me that it'll be okay, I know it actually will be.

I expect to cry more in the next few days, weeks, and possibly months after leaving everyone here, but I know I can rely on you for your comforting words and compassionate hugs. I may be weakened briefly by the notion of leaving my friends and family on the east coast, but I am strengthened by the fact that no matter what obstacles we encounter on the road and on the west coast, we will be together, to have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and health. And I promise to love and honor you all the days of my life.

I love you.

Reading my vows to him