Am I permitted to say “ditto”? Maybe not.

One year ago this past weekend, Shannon and I met face-to-face for the very first time. We had had a few months’ time talking before that — initially, in the geekiest of ways (email, AIM), and then on the phone into the latest hours of the night — but then she had to come to New York City to lay the foundations for her eventual move here, and that meant that we finally got to meet.

My memories of the weekend reflect my myriad of emotions at the time — the tension of the “what if she hates me!?!”, the happiness of “she really is as cute as she looks in her pictures!”, the intimidation of “wow, she’s smart”, and the sheer pleasure of “this is really, really comfortable.” My memories of the few months that passed between that weekend and our eventual decision to give a relationship a try are a lot blurrier — there was a great deal of hesitation, fear, and worry on both sides. My memories of the past ten months, though, are crystal-clear, and I couldn’t be happier that things have worked out. We’re both the same kind of dork, we’re better with each other around, and I can honestly say that I am happy.