Why are things so hard for you?

today is my anniversary. four years ago, in the week leading up to my wedding, in a fit of exhaustion and self-pity, i asked my mother, "why are things so hard for me?" (eventually, when we all know each other just a little bit better, i will tell you more about where this question came from, lest you think i was bridezilla and that it emanated from some deep dark place where the peach embossed napkins did not match the peach tulips in my bouquet. gasp.)

i didn't actually expect an answer. but my mother looked me straight in the eye and said, "things are hard for you because you choose hard things."

have you ever known in the moment that something was going to stick with you for the rest of your life? that you were being called out in the best way? that someone was gifting you with an essential truth about yourself? that it might haunt and inspire you for years to come?

there are ancient cultures that believed one is more susceptible to this kind of revelation when at a crossroads. of course, back in the day, it was pretty unusual for two roads to meet. so when you found yourself there--with a choice to make--it must have been comforting to believe that there might be some kind of divine revelation, some sense of the holy to guide you.

a wedding is quite a bit about intersection and choice. but i refuse to believe that it is only in the largest, most public events that we choose the direction of our lives. at my wedding, i chose the hard thing, but i have also had the joy and luxury of choosing it again and again--as has my husband. for more than a thousand days, we have woven our paths together again. we've stayed at the crossroads together, waiting to see what may be revealed to us.

and lots of days i feel like the luckiest woman in the world. even without the tulle and the tiara.