Happy Friday friends,
And an especially Happy Friday to one occasional reader of these newsletters, my wife.
Herself and I celebrated a decade-and-a-half of marriage this week.
We had a lovely dinner out, of course. And we did that thing I always assumed middle-aged parents do when they manage a rare night out together — we spent the first 15 minutes drinking wine and sighing “Well, this is nice” contentedly to each other, before moving on to discuss for the rest of the evening our daughter’s continued aversion to Montessori and the comparative quality of her most recent bowel movements.
Marking 15 years married has been one of those occasional milestones that creep up behind you and mug you for your sense of self, time, and place, leaving you mentally patting your pockets, turning around in place, and asking, “Where the hell am I?”
On some levels, it can feel like not all that much has changed. When we marked our fifth anniversary, we were living in rented…
