My wife and I have been together since we were teenagers. We met when I was a sophomore and she was a senior. There was something exhilarating about that age difference. I felt like such a badass “cool kid” for being able to swing a date with not only a senior, but a genuinely good-looking one at that. I used that exhilaration to my advantage. Built up my confidence. Learned from her maturity. Hell, she’s the one who taught me how to drive. We made it through the honeymoon phase, and by some miracle of God, we prevailed when she ended up going to college while I was left behind in high school for another two years. That’s not to say it wasn’t difficult. I learned a lot about myself in those two years. It’s kind of insane how paralyzing separation anxiety is. My insecurity grew more and more each day. That’s probably why I asked her to marry me immediately after purchasing our first apartment. I hate saying this just because it makes me sound so creepy, but she was mine. She was the on...
I’m typing this with shaky hands in the parking lot of my local diner, and I just really need to share this with someone. Three years ago, I was at my absolute rock bottom. I had just moved to a new city after a brutal breakup, my bank account was completely drained, and I was working a miserable entry-level job that barely paid for my rent. Every Tuesday morning, I would treat myself to a single $3 black coffee at a small, retro diner down the street. It was my only luxury. On my third week going there, the waitress came to my table, put down my coffee, and said, "The gentleman at the booth in the back covered it for you." I turned around and saw an elderly man wearing a faded veteran cap. He just gave me a gentle, polite nod and went back to reading his newspaper. I was too embarrassed and shy to go over, so I just mouthed "thank you" and left. The next Tuesday, it happened again. And the week after that. Eventually, it became our unwritten rule. Every single Tue...