Eleven

Today is Iain's and my eleventh anniversary.

In retrospect, it seems impossible that a brief online encounter between two people, 4,000 miles apart, would turn into eleven years of marriage. But so it has. Emails, IMs, phone calls. Exchanged pictures. Books sent through the mail. Unaccountable convictions that it would all translate seamlessly into real life when we finally met. An absurd leap into a life-upending decisions after being in other's presence for an absurdly short amount of time.

I can't imagine a person better suited for me, or to whom I'm better suited. In all the good ways, and all the awkward ways, and in all the ways that essentially boil down to: Your shit is shit I can deal with.

I love Iain for a lot of reasons, but perhaps most of all for giving me a safe space in which I can let myself be known. And for letting me know him right back.

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When Iain and I got married ten years ago, we promised never to take one another for granted, and never to take for granted that we were afforded the privilege of marriage only because we are of different sexes. Usually, on our anniversary, I encourage readers in the US to contact their Senators and Representatives and ask them to support the Respect for Marriage Act, but it has not been reintroduced in Congress this session because the Supreme Court is expected to rule on the United States v. Windsor sometime this month. US v Windsor will decide the constitutionality of defining the term marriage as "a legal union between one man and one woman as husband and wife" and spouse as "a person of the opposite sex who is a husband or a wife." Our love is not worth more because Iain and I are of different sexes. Our marriage is not undermined by inclusivity. Everyone in the US should have the same legal rights to marriage and partner-sponsored immigration that we have.

[Previously: Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three.]