The Forty Files

This week I had to remind myself how lucky in love I am.

My problems were privileged ones.

The stress of a home renovation. The dust. The invoices. The way decision fatigue sneaks into conversations that should just be about dinner. The way logistics can feel louder than affection.

But beneath the drywall samples and the contractor texts is something steady.

Someone steady.

It’s easy, in the middle of chaos, to mistake stress for dissatisfaction. To confuse temporary overwhelm with something deeper. But when I zoom out — when I really look — I see it clearly: partnership. History. Choice.

Love that has outlived the butterflies and settled into something warmer.

Not flashy. Not Instagrammable. But real.

It isn’t grand gestures. It’s shared calendars. It’s knowing how the other takes their coffee. It’s fighting about tile and still reaching for each other in the dark.

Valentine’s Day didn’t need to be roses or reservations. It was eye contact across a cluttered kitchen. It was dividing and conquering. It was a quiet “we’ll get through this.”

And we will.

I hope everyone is filling their proverbial bucket — not with perfection, but with presence. With gratitude for the ordinary. With the kind of love that shows up in work boots and sweatpants and still feels like home.

Because sometimes the romance isn’t in escaping the chaos.
It’s in choosing each other inside of it.