As of tomorrow, February 14th, 2012, my parents will have been married for 42 years.

(No, they didn’t specifically intend to get married on that day, but the venue they wanted was available… so why the heck not? I love how people either react to that date with delight or horror. For the record, me = delight.)

That’s 4 years older than I am now… which works, since most couples would need that many years of bonding (and perhaps emergency training) to put up with the arrival of a tiny, noisy, bossy Meg.

And while I can’t say I’ve truly had the benefit of seeing the whole love story unfold (leave that to my brother, who was quieter, neater, and potentially more cute, which makes him the perfect first kid), I know they’ve had that long to become who they are as a couple, and to exist as their own unique salt and pepper shaker within their long lasting pair.

So who is the salt, and who is the pepper?

I think they trade off, depending on the day.

Here are four things (there are many more than four, but I went for one a decade) I’ve learned from watching them live their life together:

1. You don’t have to love all the same things your partner does — but find things you can enjoy together, too. My mom loves Motown music… my dad is just fine without it. My dad loves shopping for clothes… my mom mostly dreads it, and would rather buy sheets or dishes. My mom loves HGTV… my dad would rather watch the football game. My dad loves his sleek, speedy sedan… my mom would rather be above the crowd, surveying her surroundings from her SUV. My mom loves her peanut butter-banana soy smoothies for breakfast… and good luck getting my dad to eat anything before 11 am.

They’re different people with different preferences. They don’t like to eat or watch or read or try all of the same things, and they have their own unwavering passions. But instead of eye-rolling or dismissing, they respect what the other one loves, and they don’t stand in the way of the enjoyment it gives them.

But they also spend time together on long drives, taking pictures and exploring (which they both love), watching PBS mysteries (which they both love), falling asleep reading Agatha Christie novels (which they both love), spending weekends away in Cannon Beach (which they both love), and eating a bit of chocolate or candy to give a nod to their sweet tooth every single night (which they both love.)

In the same way, my husband rocks out to his indie kid bands and electronica and old school rap, while I dance along with Beyonce or ABBA or things too ridiculous to mention. He loves his Frye shoes with hand-tooled leather, while I crave slipping my toes into my Havaianas… or better yet, running around barefoot. He loves shutting his brain off with PS3 when he gets home from work, while I chop a host of ingredients bought at Whole Foods, and make up recipes for our dinner.

But we always eat that dinner together, often while indulging in our Netflix obsessions (Friday Night Lights, The Wire, Dexter, etc.) We laugh at the same dumb jokes, told often, via text, phone, email, or face to face. We both love capturing life in photos… little snaps of our day. We stop on the same pages in the newspaper and notice the same stories. We both love cheering on our teams (though I swear more often when things go wrong.) I pour two cups of coffee in the morning, wake him with one, and together we blink like moles at the starting of the day. We both love exploring new roads in new places, and seeing how far we can get. We both love going out for French food or getting Chinese delivery in. We both love making our home a beautiful place, and selecting the “us” touches together.

Couples who need to share all their activities and tastes always worry me a little, as though they fear their relationship depends on loving all the same things, and sharing all the same experiences. I also worry about people who live completely separate lives until they fall into bed at night.

There IS a “me” in “team” — and without it, it would just be “ta”.

I have no idea what that means.

2. It may be that the same things drive you nuts about the other person for the entire time you’re married. And that’s a better sign than you think. I had the unique opportunity of moving back in with my parents for two and a half months while I waited to move to Boston, after the lease on my place expired. And I can confirm that the things that annoy my parents about one another — while in new contexts, for new reasons, and with different sticking points — are still pretty much the same as they were when I was younger. My dad is still stubborn in the same old ways (with new opinions and lectures and bugaboos added to infuriate my mom), and my mom is still self-sacrificing to the point of near martyrdom (with new projects and world-saving measures to exasperate my dad.)

And I felt right at home!

Not because the old arguments are fun to listen to, but because they hadn’t stopped being honest about how they felt, even when they’d spoken those words before. They still wanted to be known and heard. They were still in the fight. But those fights also weren’t the end of the world, and the bones to pick and hills to die on were still few and far between. They had perspective, too, even when they were annoyed. They knew when to be done for the day, and to go find some chocolate.

The old couples you see on the news, sitting by one another and poking each other about little fights they still have, and little things the other person does that have driven them bonkers longer than most people have been alive? They are living proof that conflict doesn’t have to drive a wedge, that it’s healthy and fine to disagree and get annoyed, and that you get to keep your opinions and feelings and preferences, no matter how long you’ve been together.

I can’t say whether or not my husband will still be driven insane by me endlessly reminding him of things, or that he will still drive me insane by forgetting things, 50 years down the line. But if we remain in these positions, it won’t be the end of the world. Because it isn’t right now, either.

3. You need to be best friends. I firmly believe a marriage will struggle unless the two people in it aren’t just in love, but are best friends. I’ve seen firsthand how much that aspect of my parents’ marriage has helped them survive difficult things, and how their bond is uniquely, plainly deep among many couples I know who’ve been together that long. They genuinely enjoy regular time in each others presence, and still have conversations about life and the world and their thoughts and opinions. They hang out. They have fun. They’re buddies.

And that’s why I’m thankful that I don’t just love my husband… I really like him. He’s interesting. He’s fun to be around. He’s hilarious. And when we’re sitting around in our living room with noisy teenagers who leave a trail of Doritos and force us to watch terrible television, it’s that aspect of our relationship I treasure. We’re not holding hands and looking moony-eyed at one another. We’re laughing until he needs to go get his inhaler… like you would with your best friend. It’s effortless more often than it’s not. And when it isn’t…

4. Love is about choices. It seems like love is an on-off switch for some people. You either feel it, or you don’t. You either want someone, or you don’t. If that feeling shows up, everyone is in good shape. And if it doesn’t, no one is going to wait it out or ask why… or even consider the option that it’s still there, being drowned out by stuff that could be worked on. And fair enough, in some cases. Love can end, and it can fall apart, and sometimes relationships are beyond repair. Sometimes things shouldn’t continue, because they’re hurtful.

But sometimes love disappears because no one has given it the time of day, or believes it is worth choosing. And the choices come in a zillion flavors: the choice to make time. The choice to keep focused on your partner and their needs. The choice to listen. The choice to forgive. The choice to put your family before any number of other things. The choice to change the plan when that’s what’s needed, and to stand firm when that’s the only hope.

I think you make those choices every day, in big and small moments. Sometimes you know you’re making them, and sometimes you don’t. But love can’t happen unless you choose it whenever you’re given the chance… and unless both people make that choice.

I’ve never seen my parents let life run roughshod over them, and hope they’d be together when the dust settled. I’ve seen them choose and choose and choose and choose and choose until they were on the other side. And with their example, and the example my in-laws have given us, we’re prepared to go through life that intentionally, too.

So happy 42nd anniversary to the very best parents a girl could hope for. Thank you for all you’ve taught me about love, and life, and what it means to make it all work… and have fun doing it. I’m more blessed than I can say to be your kid.

I don’t think I’d have gotten this far in life without having a sense of humor about myself (and a selection of Tensor bandages and thousands of pots of coffee.)

When you’re prone to nerdish enthusiasms, intense klutziness, exuberant feelings about random things, and just enough social awkwardness to occasionally stun people into silence, you have to be fine with being the brunt of jokes… and more importantly, being the brunt of your own.

Here’s a quick list of talking points:

Doesn’t wear shoes/socks
Arms so short she can’t reach her hands
Overthinker
Verbal processor
Talks at the television (see above)
Reads the ends of books and plot spoilers
Doesn’t like talking on the phone
Lazy eye on the verge of narcolepsy
Potentially manic about Christmas
Built like snowperson
Never without handbag the size of an adolescent lamb
Is from Canada and says “aboot”
Is prone to self-injure in public
Cooks dinner until oddly late hours
Is snobby about groceries
Can’t drive
Prone to cry at commercials
Takes “from above” self-photos as though she were a Yeti and needed to be captured on film to prove her existence

… and really, there are many more. But I openly acknowledge these facets of the jewel I am. Huzzah!

If you want to watch me turn into a total spaz, however, get mad at me. Better yet, get mad and walk away. I’m not good at dealing with that.

Not in the sense that I need everyone to love me (I might, I might), but in the sense that I panic if I think I’ve offended someone and they’re not responding to me, or if they get overtly chilly in my direction, or they ramble passive aggressively about something that sounds like something I might have done. I rush in to try and make everything okay, or justify myself in some loopy way, or fuss about how I can compensate for whatever I did. Usually this pattern plays out in one of three ways:

1. They didn’t actually have a problem with me, and now I’m a lunatic
2. They did have a problem with me and I’M NOT MAKING IT BETTER
3. Silence

And silence upon silence? Chilly upon chilly? Well, nothing can go well from there. Nature abhors a vacuum, and Meg abhors unresolved tension.

I hate it, even if I’ve done something to earn it. And if I can’t figure out what the hell I did, I go berserk. Not at the person, mind you. Just at myself. Which makes me inevitably weird to the person. Which, again, makes it even worse.

Modern psychology has all sorts of advice about letting people feel their feelings and owning your choices and giving them the space to do what they have to do… but I’m a fixer. I want things to be fine. I want people to be fine. I used to think this was a good quality, when it’s more just… selfish.

My late Nonna used to say, “Shalom!” and make a little “CHILL OUT” gesture with her hands if a discussion in her house got too pointed or a debate got too lively. Sometimes it was a joke, but she really didn’t like conflict. And I’m different — I can deal with conflict in the midst of it. Sometimes I propel it, even. I’m a hell of a debater, and I’m never more articulate then when I’m royally pissed off.

I just don’t like to deal with the consequences.

After arguing with my husband the other night about something ridiculous — and doing my usual, “I’M SO SORRY I’M A HORRIBLE WIFE!” and asking him if he was fine about five minutes after I was ready to unscrew his head and throw it at him — it occurred to me that I was doing three (just three?) annoying things consistently:

1. Not trusting my family and friends to love me (mostly) unconditionally
2. Dodging the consequences of things I was responsible for by forcing “okay”
3. Putting people in the awkward position of reassuring me when I’d just annoyed the hell out of them

It took me until I was in a new city with a whole new group of friends, and a new husband who was going to have to put up with me… forever… to realize that my way of dealing with things was kind of kooky. It lacked patience, it lacked faith in my relationships, and it was making me squirrelly.

I’m still figuring it out.

I know that there ARE people who want to make you feel terrible if they’re angry at you, and put effort into it — I’ve had those friendships, and they’re exhausting. But they’re also a rare animal.

Most people want to feel how they feel, take a bit to get over it, and then move on. Or they’ll tell you what they need when they figure it out. Or they’ll yell, and then stop yelling. Or you’ll apologize, and they’ll accept or not. All you can really do is do better next time, and respect how they deal with their frustration.

But it doesn’t escape me that most of the big life lessons I’ve had since I became an adult amount to CALM DOWN or SHHHHHH.

Oh, and, I LOVE YOU, DOOFUS.