I have spent far too few moments treasuring the beauty of familiarity. The thought struck me late the other night when I was in the bathroom, cutting my husband's hair. I don't know why it struck me then. I've done it countless times before. But this time, somehow the simple intimacy of knowing exactly how he likes his hair and snipping my clippers accordingly while he watched me in the mirror seemed profound. There is something to be said about sharing your life with someone. Growing up and growing old together. That idea is often romanticized by stories and movies, but amidst the day to day living of that life, the appreciation for it can be lost.
To be truly known by someone, with all knowledge of your past and present, your weaknesses and strengths exposed and still loved. That is beautiful. What a privilege it is to be the one that he knows better than anyone. And to experience the seemingly insignificant day-to-day of growing old together with someone. To me there's nothing, even in the constant stream of new and exciting, that could top or fulfill as much as that warm familiarity.