The average human heart beats 2.5 billion times in its life. 2.5 billion moments – a blink, a nod to the stranger passing on the street, coming to a fork in the road and deciding a path. It is reasonable to conclude, therefore, that there are approximately 2.5 billion moments in one’s life. How many of ours are important? A billion? A million? A hundred? Perhaps it is we, the solitary drivers in the vehicles of our lives, that determine which paths, which moments, are important. Though I may boast occasionally, allow me to state for the record that I am not an intelligent man. No, many people in my life, most that will attend our wedding are far superior in intellect than I. I believe, in my somewhat short and meandering life, that I have only been gifted with wisdom; the gift of discernment. If that wisdom is built much like a house, each important moment is then a brick added that makes me who I am.

If my life is a house, and each moment a brick, then the cornerstone of that home is my dearest Sarah. How does a word convey emotion? How can I put pen to paper the feelings that well inside me to describe the warmth in my chest, the softness in my eyes when I look at her? Forgive me, humble reader, for my attempt might fall short.

Sarah McKenzie Knapp and I began as colleagues at IUP in 2017. Then, I was hardly noticeable as a poorly dressed and poorly groomed young man, preoccupied with matters of boyhood rather than manhood. Fortunately, however, I grew on her by some miracle. We began to converse in class, her often drawing my ire, particularly in competitive assignments where we were in direct competition. I recall once we had a group assignment where our classes were split into groups – all working to purchase a tract of land for various purposes. Sarah owned the land. I strove to unite the other groups in an effort not to overzealously purchase the land, but Sarah, ever clever, broke the group within the first day. She walked away with hundreds of thousands of dollars for a tract of land with a toxic waste spill on it.

Another story I tell my colleagues is how we once competed for a class assignment. Johnstown was one of many subjects to be explored, and I humbly asked our class for exclusive rights as it was my home. Ever the rabblerouser, I can still clearly remember Sarah sitting in the back of the class waving her hand at me, saying, “You’re not the only one from Johnstown, buddy.” She experienced victory when she won the assignment through dubious means, and I walked home that day cursing her name with words that would embarrass my sailor father. Soon afterwards, it was evident that I was the only member of my class with any grasp of the assignment, and for months class would end and all twenty students would immediately pour into the university library to study and pray together with me leading the charge.

I’ve thought back to that moment many times. What would have happened had I helped no one? If I had never stayed the extra hour in the library to see her? Had I never asked her on our first date to Tres Amigos. The Butterfly Effect is not lost on me.

I was further presented another critical choice when, at six months of our relationship, Sarah’s family was moving to Atlanta to pursue their fortunes. She and I both knew we were far too early in our relationship to make a major commitment, but when the choice was presented to either pursue this budding love or cast it aside, we chose hope. We chose the chance of happiness with each other.

Five years have passed in our lives since those days. In that time we moved in together; grew together. I bought my first car, learned how to change the oil in a lawnmower, traded stock, and mastered my craft. Through it all has stood Sarah – unchangeable, impossibly bright, witty, always looking at the world with wonder and hope. Many days I come home and stare at her, ideally when she doesn’t notice. She stands unchanged and immoveable against the trials and tribulations. She still finds me (occasionally) funny, she pushes back against my dry humor, and most importantly… reminds me that there is always a better future ahead. No man married to the love of his life cannot say honestly that man is not made better by woman. I am impossibly foolish, foolhardy, whimsical, and crass. She, however, brings out in me that which no one else has – my better angels. She encouraged me to press on when the sleepless nights set in, when I was afraid to climb higher in my career, or to get off my butt and go take care of my responsibilities.

Most people feel nostalgic when thinking about their past – I don’t. I would not trade any of the 2.5 billion moments in my story because it led me to Sarah. When I look at her, time is not linear, no forward and backward. I see time congruently. I see myself, with a buzz cut and 1980’s sunglasses sitting in a van with her on the way to Washington. I also see myself aged and crippled, carrying each other to the car to go see our grandchildren. In her I see all moments, all 2.5 billion heartbeats at once. And I look forward to them all.

It is cliché, dear reader, for me to say that each of those 2.5 billion heartbeats are to be cherished in their totality. It is a farce and a trope. Rather, all of us are guilty of being walking zombies during our days – the drive to work, the endless strum of typing on keyboards, raking the grass after a cut. I challenge you instead to be awake and see the right moments to be cherished; we never realize we are experiencing the best moments of our lives until they are long passed. My aim is to fully appreciate the moment I solidify my eternal bond to Sarah in its totality. It would mean the world to us if you came along for the journey.

Truly Yours,

Alex Mark Ashcom