Yesterday, Elysha and I celebrated 19 years of marriage by taking a two-day getaway to New York City.
Clara is entering week three of her time at camp in Vermont, and Charlie is spending a few days in the Berkshires with his grandparents, so for one of the few times in our marriage, we were celebrating our anniversary alone.
We started our day by driving to New York City. We spent the first two hours talking — constantly and endlessly — because I sometimes think the biggest struggle in our marriage is finding enough time to say everything we want to tell each other.
Then, with about half an hour to go, we turned on an audiobook because we’ve also spent more than two decades together relentlessly listening to music, books, and podcasts.
After a quick lunch, we spent the afternoon at The Met, taking in the new John Singer Sargent exhibit.
I knew that Sargent was a painter. Maybe.
Elysha seemed to know just about everything about Sargent and had seen his work before.
Together, we walked through the exhibit, listening to an audio tour of some of the paintings and discussing what we were seeing. I learned a lot about Sargent and fell in love with some of his work. He is best known for his portraits, but I preferred his other paintings a lot more.
Sargent also painted the famous “Madame X” portrait for the French salon, which set French sensibilities abuzz for a time, with the work being perceived as lewd, salacious, and tragically American. I loved this story. I love it when an artist of any kind makes fancy little people angry.
Sadly, Sargent took the criticism to heart for a while.
Had I been his friend at the time, I would’ve told Sargent that upsetting fussy French aristocrats and pretentious art connoisseurs was the sign that he was doing something great.
Pushing back against the finery and artifice of any society is heroic in my mind.
If you aren’t collecting critics and enemies, you’re probably not doing your job.
Then we were off to our hotel, where we were greeted with champagne and a charcuterie plate, compliments of the hotel staff, alongside a lovely note wishing us a happy anniversary.
We ate dinner at a beautiful French restaurant, enjoying a fantastic meal and dessert, then headed to Broadway to see John Krasinski perform in his solo show, “Angry Alan.”
A brilliant performance of an excellent show.
We ended our day back in the hotel, discussing the play, looking at old photos from our previous anniversaries, reading, and talking some more. Our final conversation of the night, oddly enough, was about Henry James. I was reading “Walden” by Thoreau before turning out the lights, and somehow, we ended up debating whether James was an American or British author.
Unable to rest without knowing, I reached for my phone to check,
He’s both. Born in the United States. Spent most of his career in England.
A couple of nerds debating nineteenth-century literature before bed.
When I think back on yesterday, I think it’s a perfect encapsulation of our 19 years of marriage and 23 years as a couple, which is to say:
Elysha and I like to stand beside each other, often holding hands, talking about things, and taking in the world:
Art, food, theater, music, sports, politics, and literature. Plus, of course, our kids, family, friends, and cats.
No matter where we are standing or what we are doing, I never have a moment when I don’t have something to say to or ask my wife.
Elsyha and I have been engaged in a 19-year conversation, encapsulated in our marriage, filled with insight, laughter, debate, learning, and love.
I ended the night by thanking Elysha for marrying me. She laughed, but I was serious.
When you’re someone as brilliant and beautiful as my wife, you have choices.
She chose me.
And that’s no attempt at silliness or self-deprecation. When I told my former boss, Plato Karafelis, that we were dating on April 1, 2003, he said, “Matt, I know it’s April Fool’s Day. You’re not tricking me with this.”
“No,” I said. “I’m serious. We’re dating.”
He walked away, laughing. “Like Elysha Green would ever in a million years date Matthew Dicks.” Then he laughed some more.
“It’s true!” I shouted.
Though he would officiate our wedding three years later, it took him way too long to believe me.
He was right.
Elysha is my luckiest break ever.
Thank you for marrying me, babe. I still can’t believe it.
