"I reminded myself that wanderers were bad bets. I had reason to know: I had been one myself. Traveling was my first love, and plunging into a foreign culture had been my greatest thrill. During my traveling years I wasn’t exactly running from relationships, but the pleasure I took in moving dovetailed neatly with my fear of them. My unhappy years of domesticity had left a scar. I was suspicious of myself...But a few years into my 30s, ambivalence began to creep up every time I bought another plane ticket. I wanted a dining room table, I realized. I wanted a dining room...When I realized he was going to ask me to marry him, I wondered again if some part of me would seize up, if I would fall back into my old patterns. But since my decision to move to New York, through the four years during which I bought an apartment, was promoted at work and settled into routines, I had slowly become ready. And with this man, I saw, I wouldn’t be tied down so much as tied together. When he asked, the choice was easy. Tequila will be served at the wedding."

-modern love