What I promised on a leaf
*Reflections on 9 years of marriage
Dear Kula Diaries,
One year ago, I shared some of words in this post for the first time. It’s funny how a marriage continues to evolve over the years, but so much of what I’ve written is still relevant. As I re-read it this past week, I was, again, deeply touched by the sentiment — and I didn’t want to attempt to re-write something that still felt very true to me. Instead, I’ve decided to add to it — a continuous evolution of the story.
Over the past year, Aaron and I have grown together in new and interesting ways — we’ve ridden our motorcycles many more thousands of miles… and most recently, we’ve adopted a feral cat named Jasper. In the beginning of our relationship, I was plagued by an insatiable urge be doing something at all times — to prove that we were some sort of ‘adventure super couple’ — and now, our lives feel much richer, but also much simpler.
Often, my favorite days are the quiet days when we are able to work on my watch project together… or the moments that we share in the Kula Office doing our ‘normal’ work… and figuring out the day-to-day wildness of running a business. We went out to dinner at our favorite restaurant (The Kro Bar!) for our anniversary, and during dinner I asked Aaron if he could have predicted that someday we would own an outdoor gear company… live in a house in the woods on a little lake… ride motorcycles… and adopt a feral cat into our house, and he looked at me with a serious expression and said, “Oh, yah, I saw all of this coming!”.
In our work together, I’m usually the one who gets the ‘public recognition’, because I’m definitely the more visible of the two of us: I’m the one writing… and doing podcast interviews… and making ridiculous Instagram videos. Aaron, while he has certainly done his time as an Instagram husband, is the quiet, constant force in the background — the gentle presence that keeps me going … and, if I’m being honest, my reason for for most things that I do. Aaron doesn’t want to be in the spotlight — he’s more introverted than me, and prefers to stay behind the scenes… but he works tirelessly and endlessly to help me run Kula Cloth, and he is on a constant quest to figure out ways to make our operation run more smoothly. Behind the tens of thousands of Kulas that we’ve made and shipped out this year — Aaron has been the one who taught himself how to calculate raw fabric purchasing methodology, based on our product yields. There are many days where I notice him sitting quietly at his computer — just checking on our inventory and making sure that our little operation is running smoothly.
Last year, for our 8th anniversary… I shared some of the words that I’m sharing again below… and once I do, I’ll add a few more reflections and addendums… knowing what I know now about this, our 9th year of marriage. I’ve also added some new photos — one for every year of our marriage.
I had never planned to get married again… but I had also never planned to get divorced from my first marriage. My first marriage took place when I was 26 years old — I was swept up in the ‘idea of marriage’ and the excitement of planning a wedding, but I (truthfully) had given no thought to what marriage even meant. My first husband and I had barely anything in common, except that we both worked in law enforcement. I hiked and climbed obsessively, and he enjoyed relaxing and watching TV on his days off. I passed this off as, ‘being supportive’ of my hobbies… but it’s very hard to maintain any sort of emotional connection with somebody that you never spend any time with. Our relatively immature relationship eroded quickly, and we were divorced less than 3 years after we got married. While I had never been married before, I had noticed a pattern in my relationships — they’d ‘work’ for a few years, and once that ‘honeymoon buzz’ wore off… they started to disintegrate. I had never been able to get a relationship beyond that point. I genuinely believed that I was the problem… Afterall, I was the common denominator in all of my failed relationships. I decided then and there that I would never get married, ever again.
And then I met Aaron, a visibly kind man who was quite unlike anybody that I had ever dated in my life. I’m going to skip all the parts about dating… going to therapy… and ultimately arriving at the decision that I would be open to marriage in the future. Suffice it to say, that after a few years living by myself in a 600 sq ft apartment in Tacoma… and after working hard to build a healthy relationship with Aaron… I felt like I was ready to consider it again. And so, on April evening at sunset… alone in a fire lookout tower… I slipped on my new engagement ring and looked at it as it glistened in the fading light. I thought I knew what it meant to be married. I thought I knew what it meant to be engaged. I thought I knew a lot of things that night… but I didn’t.
Aaron and I kept our marriage pretty secretive, for the most part. We had chosen to elope to Tahiti for our wedding, and we weren’t inviting any guests. And secondly, I think that the people-pleasing part of me was still embarrassed about my divorce and didn’t want to explain anything to people who had no idea what was going on in my life. And so, we flew to French Polynesia in November of 2015 to get married.
When I was a little kid and we’d go hiking with my parents, my day was a stickler about staying on the trail…. “Errooooosssssionnnnn”, he’d say in an exaggerated voice as he pointed to the places on the trail where careless hikers had cut switchbacks. Erosion in those locations wasn’t natural - it happened, because people decided to take a tiny shortcut. Sure, maybe one little shortcut doesn’t make a huge impact… but hundreds of shortcuts over a consistent period of time starts to erode the trail.
Nobody plans for their marriage to erode — nobody does it on purpose… but it sometimes starts to sneak in, without any conscious awareness at all. It starts small… staring at your phone, instead of taking the time to check in with the other person. The notes you used to write to each other? Those are easy to stop writing. The extra hugs or kisses… those are easy to let go, because you don’t have any time. And then, if you’re like me, you leave your job and you start a business… and you focus everything you have on creating something… and forget about nurturing what you do have. I was looking through my photo album on my phone the other day for photos of me and Aaron, and I noticed something shocking: between 2017 and 2022 there are hardly any photos of me and Aaron together. Sure, there are a few vacation photos here and there… but most of the photos are of me… out on some wild adventure in the mountains… or doing the next great, amazing thing with Kula Cloth. The thing that stands out to me the most about these photos is not what is in the photos… what stands out to me is what isn’t in the photos.
As time passed, we got into a routine — as most people do — and overlooked the care of our marriage, in favor of logistical conversations about packing lunches and when we were going to go to Costco next. The curiosity and fun that we had once experienced began to drift away a little bit. Our once inseparable lives became very separate… and because I spent most of my time at home with my face stuffed into my cell phone under the guise of ‘working’ … it made it pretty darn challenging to re-connect.
I am not a marriage expert. I have failed horribly at marriage in so many ways that I am ashamed to admit it. I have been anything but an ideal wife and partner, and I have blamed my own husband for a lack of communication, when I knew in my heart that it was ridiculous to think that he could possibly connect to a wife who was plugged into her cell phone more than her real life. I demanded communication… but wouldn’t do it myself. I looked at where I was, and fooled myself into thinking that ‘somewhere else’ would be better. The erosion continued, until it all came crashing down in a heap that I wasn’t sure we could come back from.
When we were married in Tahiti, we were given a Tahitian name. Hiti Mahana was the name that the Tahitian celebrant gave to us… and I still remember that one of the women who worked at the hotel told me that the name didn’t suit us. She thought it was too generic. I had helped her the day before at the hotel with an irate customer, and she thought we needed a name that captured more of a sense of kindness. While I was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness, I wasn’t about to complain to the Tahitian celebrant about the name that he had chosen. Now, reflecting back on eight years of marriage, I know the name was the right one. After we had taken our vows on the leaf, and after we had been wrapped in the pareo… the celebrant looked at us and exclaimed in a booming voice, “Hiti Mahana”, he said, “Rising Sun.”
I often joke with people that Aaron and I took our vows in Tahitian over a leaf, and that we still don’t know what we agreed to — which used to be true, but isn’t entirely accurate anymore. When Aaron and I decided to get married in 2015, I thought that I knew what that meant — I had an idea of marriage and what it was supposed to be, and it was completely and utterly wrong. What I’ve learned about marriage is that it isn’t a given thing. Just because you buy a ring and make a promise, doesn’t mean that it’s going to work out — in fact, you might even forget those things over time. The ring loses its glisten and the promise you thought you made is obscured by wishing that the other person is somehow different than how they are. The connection you once felt is replaced by disconnection and confusion. As shortcuts are taken, erosion creeps in and wears away a shaky foundation that was built on an idea… and this, friends, this is when your marriage really begins.
Over the past few years, I’ve started referring to this experience as our ‘second’ marriage to each other. Yes, there was the marriage on the beach in Tahiti… and we even had a second (legally binding) ceremony that we celebrated with 11 members of our family a few weeks later… but those were the picturesque moments of our wedding that included photos and pizza and cupcakes. Our real marriage did not have a photographer… it did not have guests… and it was not pretty. There was no white dress and there were no flowers. Parts of it are very painful for me to think about, and there are many parts of it that I will never share — but each of those moments has played an important part. Every single moment ripped down a piece of the facade… and then we had a choice to build it back up again... together.
The rubble of our marriage was painful, but it was not bad — in fact, it was essential for the real marriage to arrive. Marriage is not a one day commitment where you say a few things to each other and eat cake. Being married to somebody is a choice that you make every single day. When Aaron and I experienced our own ‘dark night of the soul’ we didn’t re-commit to who we had been… we re-committed to each other as entirely new people. We left the past behind, stepped out of our skins, and exposed all of who we were — maybe for the first time. And when we decided to re-emerge from that moment, we did it together… as something we had never been before. There were no empty promises of change, while continuing to practice old worn-out behaviors. This was something all together new, and we had been gifted a blank canvas. It was up to us to determine what we wanted to paint it with.
Aaron and I go on a walk everyday together, and our walk climbs about 500’ of elevation up a small mountain behind our home. At the top of the climb, we have the same routine every single morning: we hug and we kiss at the top and tell each other that we love each other. Last year, I started saying, “Happy Anniversary!”… every single day. At first, it was a little corny and silly… but quickly, I realized that I meant it. Each day I was saying, “Today, we choose each other.” I can’t recall the words I said that day on a beach in Moorea on a leaf, but looking back on the last 8 years of our marriage, I think I can piece our vows together:
We come together on this day with an intention of great love. We are not perfect and we will likely cause each other great pain and heartache. Most of this will not be intentional. Most of it will come from a place of seeking something outside of ourselves. Sometimes, we will be confused about what to do or what not to do. We will not always communicate perfectly, but we will try our best. The purpose of our relationship is not to make us happy or whole. The purpose of our relationship is much more important. Our relationship will show us things about ourselves that we have been afraid to look at for a long time — these are the deepest places of our soul that have been hidden away and forgotten… but they are still there. In our time together, we will uncover these places and we will have a choice. There is no wrong choice. But once we decide, we must do so with our whole heart. We must leave behind who we were… and become who we want to be. Love will come from within us, and we will re-discover it together. Our marriage will no longer be based on needing anything at all — but rather, a shared and reflected internal love that radiates through our union with forgiveness, friendship, understanding and compassion. This, above all things, will be the gift of our marriage.
We took a vow eight years ago standing on a beach, and we both cried tears of love that day, for what we thought we were then. I asked Aaron a few days ago why he had wanted to get married, and he told me how much he loved spending time with me. In classic Aaron form, he specifically said that he remembered thinking, “Well, this is nice. I’d like to do more of this.” There were many years when we did not do more of this, and for those years, I silently mourn their loss — although I don’t allow myself to sit and wallow in regret. Now, I drive to work every day with my husband… and we’ve only missed one meal together in two years. I really did understand something back then: paradise is not a tropical island and a white sandy beach … paradise is being seen and loved, exactly how you are — rubble and beauty combined into a story that is being written every single day.
Love is a funny thing. The movies will have us believe that the only ‘real love’ is the type of love that gives you that ‘honeymoon’ phase feeling, but I don’t think that’s true. I think you can find that feeling with just about anybody. What you can’t often find is somebody that will stick with you through the times that aren’t that great… during the times that you feel very undeserving of love. Aaron and I are not a perfect married couple - because I doubt that anybody is - but over the past few years, we’ve re-built our relationship into something really beautiful… and something worth celebrating. At our anniversary dinner, our server asked us, “What’s your favorite marriage secret?”, and I said, “Get re-married to each other every single day.” A few weeks ago, I asked Aaron if he had been told on the day of our wedding exactly what the next eight years would bring to get to where we are right now — all of it — would he still do it? “Yes”, he said, without hesitating.
When we met a decade ago, I never imagined that we’d be running a successful outdoor gear company together. I never thought we’d play music together… dressed as a sasquatch and a unicorn. I had no idea we’d ride over 8,000 miles on motorcycles together. I couldn’t possibly have known the number of mountains we’d climb or the nights we’d spend in a tent. I didn’t know we would be the parents of three grey cats… and I certainly never imagined that a ‘wild’ weekend night would consist of pizza, a giant chocolate chip cookie… and going to bed at 8pm. I could not have comprehended the pain we’d feel together… or the intense love and joy. I don’t know what else lies ahead in our time together… and I’d rather keep it a surprise. But if the past eight years has taught me anything, it has showed me that even on the darkest days, we can watch the rising sun together… and remember that it shares our name.
It’s been a full year since I wrote that last post, and we’ve definitely experienced some ups and downs — but we’ve done it together. When he left his job a couple of years ago, we weren’t sure what to expect, and our plan wasn’t even for him to work for Kula Cloth… instead, it was to ‘see what happened’ — and let things naturally evolve into what was meant to be.
I struggled a lot over the past year — running a business is mentally exhausting, and there were definitely moments when it was all I could do to put on a smile and show up. But, I did it… and Aaron was by my side the entire time. Amidst some of the more challenging moments, we went on a quest for lighthouses… visited the best ice cream shops in Western Washington… rode 6 hours to eat the best pizza in Washington State, and laughed a lot… about everything.
Most recently, we’ve been spending a lot of time with our feral cat, Jasper — who is currently living in our guest bedroom. Aaron is a particular kind of cat whisperer that I’ve never seen the likes of before. Whereas I get easy startled when Jasper hisses… Aaron is unphased and seems to be able to tell exactly what the cat needs or wants. Two days ago, Aaron told me to watch the mailbox, because he had ordered a new type of coffee — a coffee that gives a portion of its proceeds to cat rescue and shelter programs around the country.
His dedication to Jasper is admirable. Each night, I watch as he takes his time gently approaching Jasper, and slowly working with him to acclimate him to life in a house. He creeps into the room, careful not to look directly at the cat… and stoops low so that he doesn’t startle him. Then, he quietly inches his way towards Jasper’s crate so that he can softy soothe him with a back scratcher or gently pet him with a gloved hand. In nine years of being together, what I have learned this year is something wonderful: that it is possible to continuously fall in love with the same person — and that nine years into marriage, everything that you’ve circumnavigated to reach this moment, makes that love even better.
Friends, thank you all so much for being here and for reading the Kula Diaries. This little place is indeed a digital diary of so many things, and I feel very grateful to be able to share the things that are most important to me.
I’m sending you all so much love today — and all days.
So happy for the two of you. Sending amore from Sicily
Beautifully said and heart felt. Thank you 💜