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I Can't Believe All the People I Haven't Kissed

Last month, my husband and I celebrated our 10th anniversary. This Spring, I felt the weight of those numbers coming my way.

My 10th anniversary of marriage.

My 20th high school reunion.

All barometers for me.

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Not to compete with anyone else but me. To make sure I am being who I should be. Because you know, life is fleeting and shit.

I have struggled with flying for the past decade, but decided we must fly and go somewhere on our anniversary. This second half of my life would not be consumed with fear, I declared to my head. We live in Los Angeles, and I chose San Francisco.

Short flight.

Easy enough to head back if the kids had an accident and needed us.

We flew from Burbank to Oakland. We hopped on the Bart. I was nervous about going under the Bay, but barely thought about it once it was apparent we were under a tunnel for five minutes. This is how it needs to be.

I once wasn't so scared. I once traveled at every opportunity I was given.

My husband and I walked up the flight of stairs from the Bart and were greeted by a beautiful, sunny, cool San Francisco day. We checked in at our boutique hotel, the Hotel Vitale, and suddenly I wanted to do the bike ride we had planned for Saturday right then. I think it was adrenaline.

We hopped on our rented bikes and pedaled across the Golden Gate bridge. I found that part anti-climatic. Crowded, noisy, passed by a few locals in biking gear who I thought were asses for riding so fast through such a crowd. The masses departed for cocktails and food around Saulsalito. We were alone. We kept on biking.

We didn't talk much. It was safer to bike single file. I was lost in my thoughts. I long and appreciate moments when I can be outside, working, lost in my thoughts. I marveled at the quaintness of Mill Valley, the beauty of San Francisco off in the distance. The kids playing and the beautiful bike trails. I thought of our own bike trails in LA. Marred with homeless people, gang bangers and people having sex (I've seen all those things). We ferried back to the city after 24 miles and headed out for a delicious dinner near Russian Hill.

My husband gave me a beautiful diamond bracelet. We split a bottle of wine and ate spectacular food. We are so damn lucky, I know.

Saturday we were a bit hungover and not sure exactly what to do with ourselves.

Everything had been so quaint and perfect the day before, I was irritated. Not sure if I could share with my husband what was bothering me.

What's wrong, he asked, while we sat in our hotel room.

A beautiful view of the bridge behind us.

"I'm sorry," I said, "But, you know, it's just that it's hard to feel romance after 10 years of marriage and frankly sometimes I wish I could just live a thousand lives and fuck a lot of different people and live a lot of different places."

I had been staring out the window for awhile, jealous of the parents pushing their kids to the fabulous market, thinking we should live somewhere flat. We always live on hills in Los Angeles. Plus, it's the hit-and-run capital of the world, yet I kept thinking our lives would be better if we lived somewhere with somewhere that was flat.

My husband didn't get mad. His response was typical, and why I married him and have stayed.

I know, he said. He told me how while he was at his reunion at Harvard, just a few weeks back, he was surrounded by some very successful, interesting people . Yet none of them lived a thousand lives. They only got to live their one life. They only got to experience so much.

I countered with, "But what about all those people on Facebook who say, 'I knew he was the one' or 'he's the best,' etc."

We rolled our eyes and talked about how maybe some people really feel that way.

Yet, we also know people who made grand pronouncements of love and are really fighting like cats and dogs off Facebook.

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I looked at my husband of 10 years.

I took a deep breath, he laughed at my outburst. I have always been able to talk to him about anything.

Here I am, 10 years in, pushing 40, three kids later, a body and my spirits stretched, pushed and pulled.

My days of dancing until late with no attachments are far behind me.

This is me on my 10th wedding anniversary.

Image via Getty Images

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