The Life that Made me, The Love that Saved me

I sit quietly in front of the old fireplace, watching the rain drizzle against the window—a familiar sight in the Pacific Northwest this time of year. Forty years in one place, though the landscape of my life has shifted. I spent my early years surrounded by rolling hills, the scent of cattle thick in the air, the rhythm of small-town life steady and familiar. But eventually, I crossed the mountains, trading open spaces for city streets, where the gray skies seemed to settle in for good. These days, the gloom drifts in like an uninvited guest, keeping me company as I sit, stare, and think.

Lately, thinking is all I seem to do. I think about who I am, what I’m doing, and whether brighter days still lie ahead. I wonder what truly shapes people—their personalities, interests, talents, and fears. Life experience, I suppose. The sum of all the moments, big and small, that carve us into who we become. I reflect on my own experiences—childhood, young adulthood, and now, this strange chapter of being a 40-year-old woman standing at the crossroads of change.

At 40, I wonder: who might I have been if my life had taken a different path? Would I be a better person? A more interesting, more intelligent woman? What if my childhood had been different? What if I had both parents, a stable home, better schooling, more opportunities? What if just one thing had changed?

I think about the hardships, the pain. The abuse. The reckless choices—drugs, alcohol, throwing away talent as if it didn’t matter. I think about the weight of the past, the way it lingers, pressing itself into the present. And I wonder, with genuine curiosity, would I be better today if my yesterdays had been kinder?

Yet, for all the things I wonder about changing, there is one I wouldn’t dare rewrite—the companionship I found in the most unexpected, unassuming person. The love that arrived not with fireworks or grand gestures, but with steady hands and quiet understanding. The easiest, most supportive, and kindest relationship I’ve ever known—and yet, the one that took the most effort for me to accept.

It wasn’t love that swept me off my feet. It was love that asked me to stand still. To trust. To believe in something I had never known. I had to convince myself it was real, that I deserved it, that the warmth of his presence wasn’t some fleeting illusion. His kindness, so unfamiliar at first, felt almost foreign—like a language I’d never learned to speak but somehow longed to understand.

Had my life been different, would I still be here? Would I still find myself gently, patiently loved by a man who makes life not just bearable, but beautiful? I wonder sometimes—was all the hardship, all the aching lessons, meant to lead me to this? To him? To a place where love doesn’t wound but soothes, where companionship isn’t another storm to endure but the shelter from it?

He doesn’t add to the whirlwinds of my pain. He doesn’t feed the chaos inside me. Instead, he changes the atmosphere, calms the raging flood, rewrites the very air I breathe.

Love. Is it a feeling? A choice? An experience? Or is it, perhaps, a kind of quiet salvation?

What could two people achieve if they never tire of each other? If they embraced not just the best parts, but the raw, restless energy, the quiet curiosities, the messy imperfections, the unspoken desires? If they leaned into the wonder of one another completely, without hesitation, judgement, or fear?

If soulmates exist and we spend our lives in search of them—what happens when they’re found? Does the journey change? Does the road stretch endlessly ahead, or does it all lead to a single point, an arrival? And if happiness is the answer, do we only discover it in the end as we look back and reflect on our journeys? Or is it something we create along the way?

Beside me rests a photograph—a moment frozen in time of our younger days, a time of boundless adventure and discovery. It captures us on a journey that led to the highest peak in Africa, a turning point in the story of us, shaping the path we would walk together.

I can still feel the crisp mountain air, the way the first golden rays of sunrise kissed our faces as they danced across the snow-capped summit. That view, breathtaking and endless, is etched into our memories, but more than that, the feeling remains—an unspoken shift, a quiet awakening. It was there, above the world, that we changed. That we became something more, something unshakable, something unstoppable us.

At midlife, I sit quietly, pondering who I am now, what has shaped me, and who I will ultimately become—grateful that, in this moment, I’m in far better hands than I was in yesterday’s past.

For Daniel. My greatest love.