Through the phone, most people don’t think me to be 22. I can be clean, classy, mature [the operative words being "can be"]. Hell, I satisfactorily tour-guided and interpreted for the president of the Japanese company for which I interned a couple of summers ago one-on-one through San Diego for two days.

I’ve adapted to the business aspect, the public aspect of life. My polite voice is chronically raised a third, but I’m amiable with the fish guy, the produce and cheese guy. Who would believe that above my indifference to life, “have a nice day” accompanied by a smile however weak but genuine, is now subconscious habit?

But with Brian, oh, with Brian, growth is absolutely alien to business. With him, I’m slapped by my shortcomings borne of the emotional pandering by which I’ve been pampered since birth. During my lengthy time of weakness, I’ve starkly realized one of my faults, just one out of the bursting bag, but inarguably critical in maintaining this relationship.

He is indeed 30 and comparatively, I, while disputably more experienced than most, am still a green 22. In this exposure to a sudden onset of extreme health problems and his seemingly boundless caring and strength, I’ve failed him, failed to be cognizant of the purported knowledge that he, too, needs nourishing.

This realization is the first of many rungs I face. But I’m willing, more than willing to climb. I’m determined for Brian’s and our stability, for this incredible relationship that has brought tribulations and newfound emotions beyond the joy of a surprise box of Junior Mints.

Life is perennial learning.