Falling in love, it turns out, can happen quickly, or it can happen slowly. For me, it was both. I knew within just a few weeks of meeting Raquel that I was in love with her. Now, for the record, I maintain no bullshit Hollywood ideas of love. I don’t think that love is something that happens to you, nor does it happen outside of our ability to control it. When I say I fell in love with Raquel, I mean that I knew that I wanted to be with her forever (or until she turned out to be crazy). I could foresee the possibility of a day when my feelings toward her would change, but I couldn’t (and still can’t) imagine a scenario where I would want to let my feelings dictate my actions (unless she did turn out to be crazy, though I think we’re beyond that point now). But I’m just now realizing that, although I discovered what I believe to be the closest thing to love at first sight, I didn’t realize that you can fall in love with the same person again and again.
I just remembered a day she came to see me while I was living in Pensacola. For some reason, we bought a gigantic bottle of bubbles. It had one of those economy sized wands with four or five rings on it, for maximum bubble capacity in a single dip. We discovered, driving around that day, that 25 miles per hour is the perfect speed to drive to maximize bubble production while holding this wand out the window. We drove all over Pensacola—a trail of bubbles following my SUV all over town.
That afternoon we went to the beach—found our own little corner on the western end of the island—and stayed until the sun began to set. We had a package of sour fish candy, and Raquel would suck all the sugar off of them, and then feed me the sticky, naked gummies. I remember being annoyed by it, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment by bringing it up. I’ll always remember the way she looked in the black and red bikini I helped her pick out—radiant in the golden light of the evening. We soaked up the sun and the salty air and watched as the breeze carried our bubbles over the white sand.
And laughed.
My God, I’ve laughed more in the last 23 months than in the previous 23 years. I used to be truly afraid that I’d never meet someone who could hold my attention for longer than a few months. I truly believed that after a certain amount of time, all relationships just get routine and monotonous—that this is simply a fact of life, like gravity or the inanity of televised dance competitions. How wrong I was. No, Dancing with the Stars is simply a delight; and every day with Raquel is more interesting than the last. She made me remember how great it feels to laugh.
As I lay in bed remembering that day, it occurred to me that, although I was madly in love with her long before we blew bubbles on the beach, I was falling in love with her again on that day—and again as I remembered it tonight. The great thing about love is that it isn’t beyond our control. We can choose to experience it again and again, as often as we desire.
I just remembered a day she came to see me while I was living in Pensacola. For some reason, we bought a gigantic bottle of bubbles. It had one of those economy sized wands with four or five rings on it, for maximum bubble capacity in a single dip. We discovered, driving around that day, that 25 miles per hour is the perfect speed to drive to maximize bubble production while holding this wand out the window. We drove all over Pensacola—a trail of bubbles following my SUV all over town.
That afternoon we went to the beach—found our own little corner on the western end of the island—and stayed until the sun began to set. We had a package of sour fish candy, and Raquel would suck all the sugar off of them, and then feed me the sticky, naked gummies. I remember being annoyed by it, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment by bringing it up. I’ll always remember the way she looked in the black and red bikini I helped her pick out—radiant in the golden light of the evening. We soaked up the sun and the salty air and watched as the breeze carried our bubbles over the white sand.
And laughed.
My God, I’ve laughed more in the last 23 months than in the previous 23 years. I used to be truly afraid that I’d never meet someone who could hold my attention for longer than a few months. I truly believed that after a certain amount of time, all relationships just get routine and monotonous—that this is simply a fact of life, like gravity or the inanity of televised dance competitions. How wrong I was. No, Dancing with the Stars is simply a delight; and every day with Raquel is more interesting than the last. She made me remember how great it feels to laugh.
As I lay in bed remembering that day, it occurred to me that, although I was madly in love with her long before we blew bubbles on the beach, I was falling in love with her again on that day—and again as I remembered it tonight. The great thing about love is that it isn’t beyond our control. We can choose to experience it again and again, as often as we desire.
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