“How Did You Know He Was the One?” - @home

Vasto, Italy

This is a post published right after a six-week trip to Colombia. If you’d like to read what I published during the experience, you can start the series with #1 here.  

“Welcome back home” dinner at our Termoli favorite, Ristorante Z’bass.

The flight from Bogotá was delayed, and we were finally on our way to Madrid. 

It was time for dinner. I took off my earphones in order to hear the air hostess’s questions. She placed a food tray on my tiny foldable table, after serving the person next to me in the window seat. I turned my head to the left in order to say “¡Buen provecho!”, and my fellow traveler wished me good appetite back. 

That’s how the conversation started. 

It turned out I was sitting next to a very friendly Colombian lady, around my age, who had moved to Spain decades ago. She had been visiting her old mother in Medellín. My face lit up upon hearing that name. Colombia had been a magical experience for me, again, and she got to know all about it before we could finish our meals. 

Shortly thereafter, the hostesses came to take away our trays and then dimmed the cabin lights. It was past midnight but we kept chatting instead of trying to get some sleep. The meandering conversation kept moving from one topic to another. Spanish accents, Cartagena and Caribbean cuisine, gym workouts, eyelash extensions, climate change, Italy … 

“So, are you happy to go back home?” she asked me. “It sounded like you had a fabulous time.”

“More than fabulous!” I responded, truthfully. “The only problem was that I missed my husband so much. If it wasn’t for him, I would have found a way to stay on in Colombia.”

“Really?” she inquired. 

I wasn’t sure which part of my response she was surprised about, missing Umberto so badly or wanting to stay on. Or all of it.

“How long have you been married?” she continued with another question before I could say anything. 

“We’ve been together for more than thirteen years and got married about a year ago. We just celebrated our first anniversary remotely as I was in Colombia.” I smiled happily and showed her my cell phone’s wall paper, one of our wedding pictures. 

“That’s a very beautiful picture of you two,” she said and then looked me in the eyes. “How did you know he was the one?” 

A perfectly regular question in a conversation between women, not meant to be deeply personal or philosophical. My response was equally lightweight, one of the usual standard lines: “Somehow, you just know when it’s right.” 

But the question stuck with me afterwards. How did I know? 

Was it about aligned values and shared dreams? Irresistible attraction? His kindness and generosity to everyone? The ease of everyday life together? Fun and laughter, passion for travel? Feeling safe with him? Getting through difficult times together? The unshakeable trust? Something else?

I kept thinking about it during the rest of the journey and filled a few pages in my diary. But hard as I tried, there were no conclusions, just beautiful phrases and more question marks. 

I finally got home in the early morning hours of Friday, after thirty hours on the road. A taxi ride, three flights, one almost missed connection, a four-hour bus journey. My body was stiff and I was so exhausted that it didn’t take me many seconds to fall asleep. 

When I woke up, it was broad daylight. Umberto had gone to the office hours earlier and I had not heard a thing. There was a gorgeous lilac orchid on the nightstand, his “welcome home, amore” gift to me. 

I sat up on the bed, yawned and stretched my arms, then got up slowly. I walked out to the bedroom balcony to get some fresh air. It was a calm October morning, and the Adriatic waves were glistening under the sun. That’s when the answer came to me.

Love is not a cognitive exercise.

How did I know he was the one? I didn’t.

It’s not something that can be known. You just have to live it.

The welcome flower.

One of our silly traditions: Sunday selfies on the beach!