It’s a ceremonious injury because exactly 30 years before this I experienced an even dumber accident on a quiet residential street right in front of my apartment. An awkward misstep upon the right pedal of my bike forced my foot to slip back, filleting my calf on the metal teeth of the chainring. This was instrumental to the education of a roomful of medical students as the plastic surgeon hacked out grease and flesh, carefully avoiding my Achilles tendon and gifting me with an impressive scar where skin was stitched back together. Only a few days later, I’d use that leg to confidently walk down the wedding aisle. I was followed by Karyn and we’re standing together to this day.

So, these injurious acts of stupidity are inauspicious bookends to 30 years of marriage. In between, of course, there have been a shared collection of accidents and disease that evoke the “in sickness and health” section of wedding vows. I’ve lost track of all ailments between the two of us, but there’s been organ removal, a squishy eyeball, a compound fracture, pneumonia, a cracked rib, a few chronic back issues and shingles, among many others. In the quick retelling, it sounds like a lot, yet we’ve done well to spread them out evenly over three decades.

There’s also been children — not injuries or disease, but similar — now grown and themselves adulting and leading their own beautiful lives. And pets, including three dogs, the first of which we thought would be a good warm-up for parenting human children, which in retrospect is a laughable admission of how naive we were. I realize our list of what’s transpired is just a record of how foolish we were so many years ago or last Tuesday.

I’ve been trying to make sense of what shapes and documents a relationship, especially one that has enveloped the majority of our lives. Growing up, I remember a book my parents had, “Love Is Walking Hand-In-Hand,” and within it was a collection of “love is” statements and accompanying depictions. It had things like a phone call, making fudge, walking in the rain, hand holding. It didn’t say anything about the injuries, nor the dogs that died, nor the late nights with sick children.

Clearly, I won’t author any such book. “Love is enduring shingles together” doesn’t sell, nor is it accurate. We count years that offer a canvas for myriad events, good and bad, but the nature of companionship isn’t really about checking off these moments. It’s about an enduring knitting together of lives and living. That has meant being there to see doctors reset Karyn’s broken wrist, but it’s also meant walking coastlines and mountain passes, sharing countless meals, listening without offering advice. It’s being able to step through the door and sigh deeply in the exhausted way that no one else gets to hear. It’s about letting down your guard in the presence of the person you want most to be your very best for. It’s bringing coffee upstairs first thing in the morning and asking how you slept. It’s witnessing together light piercing through the canopy of redwoods onto your two children as they walk in front of you. It’s been laughter, my very favorite in this universe.

So relationships, whether a three-decade bond or a three-week introduction, are not lists of dates or events, nor the injuries or medical procedures. I’m bumbling through all of this, but what I’ve come to know is that our coupling is in the dynamic story we etch together, behind and in front of us. I’ve been blessed with a life woven with another’s. We know and are known by a companion, our histories and our tendencies, strengths and shortcomings. We are each loved, but equally important, we’re understood. I can imagine no greater gift.

So I suppose that as we’ve braided our lives together, love IS walking hand in hand — and so much else. For now, Karyn, please take my left hand because my right thumb is broken. Happy anniversary.

Adam Johnston is a professor of physics and director of the Center for Science and Mathematics Education at Weber State University, where he helps prepare future teachers and supports educators throughout Utah. This commentary is provided through a partnership with Weber State. The views expressed by the author do not necessarily represent the institutional values or positions of the university.