The particular weirdness of a ninth wedding anniversary
(Aside from the fact that I'm supposed to gift something made of willow)
Today, Matt and I celebrate a whopping nine years of marriage.
I often joke that we got married as teenagers, but the sheer reality of how young we were when we got hitched never hits me until I see the numbers written out on a page. We were married on June 24, 2016, when Matt was twenty-six and I was twenty-five. At that point, we’d been together for nearly seven years and engaged for exactly one. Prior to our engagement in 2015, I had been absolutely peeved that the whole thing was taking soooooo long. We’d been together forever! When was it going to happen?
I refuse to invalidate the feelings of the twenty-four-year-old version of me who simply wanted the chance to make things official with the person I loved so much. That being said, I can also look back with the wisdom of a decade and realize that I maybe—just maybe—ruined the ride a little bit with my impatience. Plus, we were living in New York City! Truly, no one else was getting engaged.
But we did. And we got married a year later and it was—and has been—wonderful.
I don’t take my marriage for granted, and so I’m happy to celebrate each and every year that goes by… but I’d be lying if I said that this one didn’t feel a little weird.
There are a few reasons I can think of for this.
It’s so close to a milestone number but not quiiiiite yet, like a twentieth birthday. For a long time, we’ve tossed around blue sky ideas for how we’d celebrate a decade of marriage—and we can almost start to really consider those. But not yet.
I don’t love odd numbers. I can’t explain it. It’s just a thing.
As I shared last week, we recently lost our dog very suddenly. While it finally feels like we’re coming up for air and settling into a new normal without him, it’s been a generally sad time. This is all on top of the bleakness of the world right now.
The traditional anniversary gift for nine years is willow, and I’m just not sure what to do with that information.
Currently Reading: Long Island Compromise by Taffy Brodesser-Akner
I liked but didn’t love Taffy Brodesser-Akner’s last book (Fleishman Is in Trouble), but I’m a sucker for any big tome that promises family drama and a sweeping narrative. That’s what I’m getting here so far! A few years ago, I heard this author in conversation with one of my all-time favorites Jonathan Franzen, and Long Island Compromise is super reminiscent of my most loved Franzen novels.
With all this in mind (except, perhaps, the willow thing, since I’m not sure Matt’s looked it up), we’ve decided to keep the anniversary festivities pretty low-key this year. This past weekend, we attended a family wedding here in Philly, which was a fun night out and an excuse to have a staycation while Will stayed with my mom and stepdad (thank you!). We have more fun things planned for later in the year, and we’d rather divert the planning and spending for those—along with the big ten-year party in 2026.
But nine is still a big number, and now that I have a little more perspective about how young we really were and how lucky we’ve really been to continue finding happiness with each other after all this time, I thought I might step back for a second here.
As I mentioned earlier, I really didn’t think I was so young when we got engaged—and definitely not when we tied the knot. Even then, our relationship had been through a lot and was mature beyond its years. Plus, I’d always felt like I was mature beyond my years. An old soul. (And not like the people who call themselves that on Love Island.)
A quick AI search informs me that in 2016, the average age of marriage was about twenty-five for women and thirty for men. Matt and I were only a couple of years short of those numbers, but I think most of us can agree that a lot of growth and change happens in those late twenties. Another quick AI search informs me that we’d have to go back to 1980 to find ourselves in a time when folks were, on average, twenty-four and twenty-five when they said “I do.” Truthfully, if I can manage to forget my own life story for a bit, my assumption in 2025 is that most people in their early to mid-twenties who are getting married are part of conservative religions or subcultures, or otherwise move through the world in a way totally separate from my own experience.
Still, I don’t feel like I’m being an apologist or covering my ass when I say that—looking back on it all on this weird ninth anniversary milestone—I love that I made the decision to marry Matt at such a young age.
Yes, our marriage has remained a safe, consistent, and happy fixture in my life in spite of the normal hiccups, but even that aside, I look at the twenty-four-year-old who was so ready to commit to her person even though none of her social groups were implying that she had to and feel—dare I say?—a little proud.
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