Monday, September 29th was a big day. It marked one year since Mike and I started dating.

So you'll have to forgive me if this week is a little Mike-heavy — but this one-year point is somewhat startling, and really, really marvelous.

I would never have guessed, a year ago, that this is where I'd be. The curled-up-in-a-ball-on-my-couch stage of getting divorced was truly over. I loved living alone. I loved being single. I loved casual dating and nothing serious and doing everything on my own terms.

I liked this person I had turned out to be: She had fun. She didn't need anyone. She was free to do anything she wanted.

I had no interest in getting into a relationship. As soon as someone said the R-word, or mentioned their mothers, or planned ahead, I dropped them.

My Third Date Rule wasn't about sex — it was the last time I'd see someone.

Then this person showed up. He didn't want a relationship either. We rejoiced in our No Strings Mindsets. Then we realized that we liked each other a lot, and rejoiced that we lived so far away, since neither of us were in any place to date "for real." Then we realized we really, really liked each other a lot. And — well, you've pretty much been here for the rest.

I realize that we didn't call it a relationship until well after September, but seeing as both of us stopped dating other people, and both of us spent all our time being alternately delighted by and terrified of the unnamed something we were in from that point on, we may as well just count it from there.

So now, here we are. Long distance, yes. Terrifying, sometimes, still. But more happy-making and supportive and wonderful than I knew relationships could be. It astonishes me that this is where I am now.

And how nice to have an anniversary that marks the beginning, rather than the end.