Love Wins

Clyde and I are getting married.

For so many reasons, I never expected to be able to write that sentence.

*****

As early as my ninth birthday, I knew I was different. For many years, I kept that difference a secret: through high school and through most of college. Instead of dating the people I felt an interest in, I dated several smart, sweet, patient women. I tried to be attracted to them, until I realized two things:

1) If you have to try to be attracted to someone, you’re setting yourself and the object of your fake affections up for a lifetime of disappointment and regret.

2) I was tired of lying: to the women I dated, to my closest friends, to my family, to myself.

So I broke off a relationship that was veering toward marriage and embraced the idea that I would always be alone.

That worked — but not very well — for several years. I was lonely. I grew tired of well-meaning people who pledged to “help me find the right girl.” I was still being dishonest about one of the most precious aspects of life.

The longer and harder I worked at hiding, the fewer genuine connections I could make with family and friends. And even when people said they loved me, I believed that, if I slipped and revealed the *real* me, these people would shut me out.

Living this way is exhausting. It’s barely living at all.

*****

When I turned 28, I decided something had to change. I stopped believing I was broken, and decided to accept that I am who I am. I stopped believing in a small, petty god (who was really, I see now, a projection of people’s fear, ignorance, and spite), and decided to have faith in a God that was big enough to require real faith: a God who could love me and understand me, even when I could not love or understand myself.

Most importantly, I realized that people who would stop loving me just for being honest with them didn’t really love me — at least not the *real* me — in the first place.

And so I decided to try, for the first time in my life, to make a connection with someone I could really love.

That didn’t go so well, either.

There was a first (and last) date with sweet, desperate fellow for whom I felt absolutely zero attraction. There was a first (and last) date with an odd little man who thought it would be romantic to read a novel — an entire novel — to me. There was a first (and last) date with a man who couldn’t stop talking about the ex he was clearly still in love with.

And slowly, over time, I became convinced that I was destined to be alone after all. Rather than fight that, I embraced it. Rather than keep looking, I quit trying.

And that’s when something wonderful happened: at movie night at a tiny non-denominational church, I met Clyde.

*****

From the very first moment, being with Clyde felt *right* — as in “This is what’s been missing all this time” or “Now I finally understand what all the fuss is about.” That kind of right. Everything felt natural, casual, comfortable. When I wasn’t with him, I wanted to be. When I was with him, I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have found this handsome, sweet, quiet, gentle, smart, hard-working soul. (And yes, it was a new, amazing, intoxicating experience to finally be dating someone I was drawn to in every way.)

Six months later, I moved in. Clyde joked, “Let’s just give it a try, and see how we feel after Christmas.”

Twenty-one years later, here we are.

*****

I was always the marrying type. I’ve always wanted to be married. I just never dreamed it would be possible.

I felt married. Friends and family saw us as married. Clyde and I were, for all practical purposes (except legal ones) married. But the idea of actually being able to get a license and walk down the aisle? I had convinced myself that America would never allow it.

How strange it was to see other countries making progress, providing marriage rights — while here, in the “land of the free,” our own pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness was curtailed by nothing more than prejudice, superstition, and spite.

*****

And now, here we are, in San Diego, California. In an hour or two, we pick up our marriage license. Tomorrow, Clyde and I will be married.

Early on, I thought the licensing and pronouncement would be a strictly legal transaction, like filing taxes or picking up a driver’s license. I am surprised, though, by how deeply and profoundly moving this moment is.

Yesterday, while walking the waterfront, I kept looking at Clyde: laughing, looking out at the water, chatting with our friends. “My husband,” I kept thinking. “That’s my husband.” Last night, at dinner, with ten friends and members of our family, I sat beside him. Every now and then, under the table, he would give my knee a playful squeeze. And I would marvel that finally, finally, after all those years of hoping and dreaming and longing … here we are, surrounded by people who love and support us.

I have been happy almost every minute of the past twenty-one years, but I have never been as happy in my entire life as I am right now, today.

*****

As a writer, I tend to see life as a story. I believe with all my heart that the goal of that story is to learn to love and accept ourselves, to love and accept others, and to be loved and accepted in return.

And the moral of that story?

Love wins.

It takes time. It may not always seem obvious or possible. Getting there may require acts of bravery, or patience, or compassion, or sacrifice. But … love wins.

Today, I am as happy, as grateful, and as much in love as I’ve ever been.

And tomorrow, Clyde and I are getting married.