CARLTON FLETCHER: Counting the days … and thankful for them all

You fill up my senses like a night in the forest, like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain, like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean.

— John Denver

There have been many suggestions and programs offered by self-proclaimed experts and others hoping to make a buck off a gullible public on how to live your “best life.”

I’m neither an expert nor someone hoping to get ahold of your hard-earned money. But I will weigh in here, based on personal experience, on how you can live a life that is filled with promise and a whole lot of joy.

Spend your life with your best friend.

I was given the opportunity to do that two years ago when Michael Meyer von Bremen, one of my favorite people ever, married Tara and me.

We’d known each other a long time before committing to a life together, and one of the things we did right was cement our friendship first. That aspect of our union has flourished, and now I’m allowed the opportunity to enjoy true friendship — with multiple benefits, so to speak. And as I limp toward life’s finish line, I do so with a measure of joy that only the births and lives of Steven Carlton, Marisa Jordan and Hannah Grace — and their children — can match.

Not to imply that our lives together are perfect. Like every other couple, we have our moments, mostly because of some stupid thing I’ve done or said. But never is there a doubt that the foundation on which we’ve built our relationship is strong enough to withstand those moments. And with each small skirmish, that foundation gains additional strength.

This joining that Meyer von Bremen crafted has been a gift of immeasurable proportion. It’s an amazing thing to wake up in the morning looking forward to what the day will bring rather than worrying about what calamity awaits. It’s a pleasure to share a life with someone who knows and recognizes your frailties but sees beyond them. It’s a comfort to spend time immersed in shared pleasures rather than enduring a “you-go-your-way-I’ll-go-mine” dynamic that eats away at the foundation until there’s nothing left but shifting sands.

In the immense river that is time, two years — 730 days — is the blink of an eye. But when you can build two years of joy out of the shambles that were these two separate lives … well, it’s worth celebrating.

I’m probably the worst gift-giver in the world, never quite grasping the little nuances that some people have for finding just the perfect thing for the people they love. It’s an attribute I envy. But, to paraphrase Elton John, one of our favorite shared musical artists ever, my gift is my song, and this one’s for you. My gift is the words that come from my heart, and these are for you.

People who think they know this amazing woman — and there are scores of them out there, each wanting a share of her time — have no clue. I discover a new facet of her being every day, and I’m fortunate to share the world with this Southern-born, soother of souls, first of her name, singer of songs, slayer of moths, maker of chicken and dumplings, nurturer of once-lost causes, humbler of BS politicians, doctorer of rashes, mother of artists, maker of miracles.

I celebrate these 730 days together … and selfishly hope for many more. No matter the number, though, I vow to enjoy each one. A tall order, I know, especially for someone who’s failed so often. But it’s a lot more doable when you’re with your best friend.

Hodor.