I am fortunate today to be celebrating 32 years of marriage. Since it seems to me that fewer and fewer young people are choosing marriage these days, at least not without a trial run that involves living together for an unspecified, usually lengthy, period of time, perhaps I might have some advice to offer. Not because I am an expert on marriage. Far from it. But because I am, at least, able to say that I made a commitment, I have stuck to it, and so has my husband. And that has made all the difference.

Today I pulled out our brown-tinged wedding photo album, saved from a fire that nearly destroyed our house in 1983. Once I get past the Farrah Fawcett-inspired early ’80s hairstyle and color I no longer claim, I can recognize myself as a happy but foolish young woman who is frozen in time by the camera at the same age my daughter is now.

It makes me smile to look back and see how many family members and friends joined us on that special day. That summer the whole world was talking about the wedding. Not ours. Charles and Diana’s. I thought that would remain a benchmark for us. But sadly we all know how that turned out.

The day was hot and oppressive. I was burning up in a dress I had purchased off the rack in winter, but I thought at the time it was the most beautiful thing I had ever put on. My husband’s young cousin said I looked like a princess. I certainly felt like one.

I remember our Methodist minister whose son I had a crush on in 6th grade wore a big JESUS belt buckle at our rehearsal and wanted to know during our pre-nuptial counseling session why we wanted to be married in the church.  My husband told him it didn’t matter to him whether we were married in church or outside in the woods along Current River. God would be there regardless. I always loved him for that.

The next morning our honeymoon flight to St. John was among many that day canceled as air traffic controllers threatened to strike. We jumped on a fight to San Juan, hoping to at least get close to our destination, then to St. Croix, where we found a room at a modest hotel by the airport. There was no air conditioning. We turned my hair dryer on cool to get some air flowing. I stepped on gum in the lobby looking for ice  we could wear. We had champagne. My husband popped its cork aiming at a big bug on the wall.

We made it the next day to our destination, beautiful Bolongo Bay, where there were many other couples like us with shiny new wedding rings and futures. I remember I got a bad sunburn. I stayed in the last day while hubby went on a morning scuba diving trip to Tortola. Their boat broke down and he was gone the entire day and evening with no word on when they would be able to return. I was a young bride at a beautiful, romantic beach resort. I was alone. But I knew it would make a good story later.

Since then many more unexpected turns of events have followed. That’s life. We’ve raised two children and a dozen or more pets, lived in 5 houses, and we’ve traveled together from Poplar Bluff, Missouri,  to the pubs of London, Seattle to Sarasota, Translyvania to Tuscon. We’ve both changed careers. Quit jobs. Invented new ones. Lost loved ones. Agreed. Disagreed. I can’t say it’s always been easy or fun, only that is has often been easy and fun.

But I can honestly say if you can commit to sharing your journey in this life with another, and a commitment of marriage is what I am talking about here, not just an agreement to share the rent or a refrigerator or a bed,  you will be able to grow over time in ways you never imagined. I am a proponent of marriage, including gay marriage. I believe we are stronger for the commitments we make to one another, and our character is forged not by what we must do, but by what we choose to do.

I’ve learned a few things along the way, and my own journey has proven to me that these words are true and wise: Never say never. Say you’re sorry. Don’t keep score. Live your own life. Share. Create your own opportunities. Bloom where you’re planted. Forgive. Choose love.

I know I am richly blessed to have such a wonderful companion. I am lucky because we have been two souls looking not at each other but out on the world, stronger for the knowledge we are on this roller coaster ride together.

With that in mind, my advice is this: Sometimes you’ve got to scream. And you must laugh. Often. But commit to the ride and don’t get off. I promise you it will be worth it.