THE STORY OF MY LIFE

Forty years is a long time.

It's measured in years, certainly, but also in months, days, minutes, and most especially, MOMENTS. Forty years ago today, Erin and I were married. At 30 and 29 years old, we had no idea what life would bring. We couldn't know the joys, the struggles, the surprises, the losses, or the blessings that lay ahead.

But even then, I think we sensed something important: life is not ultimately measured by years. It's measured by Moments.

Over the years, I've told countless couples that marriage is hard work. In fact, it may be some of the hardest work you'll ever do. But it is also among the most rewarding. The effort itself becomes part of the gift.

On this 40th anniversary, I don't simply celebrate Erin. I don't simply celebrate myself. I don't even celebrate "us." I celebrate what we've been given together—what we've shared, what we've learned, and what we still have the privilege of discovering.

Last year, as I was turning seventy, someone asked me, "What do you want to be when you get old?"

Without hesitation, I answered, "Erin's."

Because she is more than my spouse. She is my soundtrack, my unwritten poem, my best self reflected back to me. Quite simply, she is the story of my life.

As a Caring Catalyst, I've come to believe that one of the greatest gifts we can offer the people around us—our children, our grandchildren, our friends, and our communities—is not perfection. It is the example of what it means to love and to be loved.

The world doesn't need more perfect relationships. It needs more visible examples of grace, forgiveness, commitment, laughter, patience, and the quiet decision to keep showing up for one another.

That may be the real legacy of love.

An anniversary marks a date on a calendar, but the deeper celebration is found in a moment that can be lived every day: choosing to love, choosing to be loved, and allowing that love to become a gift to others.

That's an anniversary worth celebrating continuously.