Sometimes I feel like Nate and I have been together our whole lives, and then sometimes I look at him and think, “Do I know you? Why are you in my bed?” and my mind is blown that I’m 22 years old. I’m married. I’m living in the middle of the country, away from everyone I know and love. I’m still getting used to going by someone else’s last name. Sometimes it feels like it’s mine, other times I feel like it’s just a word that I write on my mail. Sometimes I love it and am proud of it. I usually am. Steele. It’s sounds good when you say it out loud. I don’t feel like I know very much about life in general. I know about some things, like aperture, Le Creuset pans, grammar, how long to let a baby cry before you can tell she’s really awake from her nap, international airline flights, and gelato. But I’m really young. And I feel it everyday. I often feel confused when I feel like I’m in vulnerable moment. Sometimes I just can’t believe that my marriage won’t fail, that everything I believe could actually be true, that my life really is the way I think it is. It’s a frightening feeling to imagine my life from outside of my body. Usually it only lasts a minute or two, and then I go back to normal, but every now and then I feel totally afraid and out of control for a split second. It’s probably good for me. Perhaps it’s my Father in Heaven telling me to trust Him. Perhaps it’s the chemicals in my brain having a fiesta. Who knows. Either way, I know that I’m a human being. A person, with a physical, imperfect body, who worries about what to wear, how to be better, what to make for dinner, how to not spend money, when Nate will be coming home…
All of these parts of me were appealing enough to a fascinating, handsome, sweet man to sign up to be with me as long as we both exist. Never in my life will I be able to comprehend why, or how a singular person could be full of that much patience, charity, and confidence in me. It’s so easy to love him– he’s the closest thing to perfect that I’ve ever encountered. I love my life with him. I love that it’s our life. Our apartment, our dishes in the sink, our bank account, our life. It looks weird when I type the word “our” so many times. It makes me wonder if I spelled it right or something. But how? How is it possible that I found the boy I’ve always dreamed of being with, and actually did it– talked him into marrying me? I don’t know. But with him, nothing I do is wrong, nothing I do is unfixable or bad or even worrisome. He lets me start from perfect every single day. Every day is Day One.
The celebration of the first Day One, photographed by Iris and Light.
xo.
