One Year In – When the Spuds Came Marching In

“Happy birthday to us.”

It didn’t begin with a strategy. It didn’t begin with a business plan, a funnel, or a vision board carefully mapped out in bullet points.

It began, as most meaningful things do, slightly off-key.

A song. A laugh. A quick check—are we live?—and the quiet reassurance that yes, we are. Recording. Capturing. Living.

And somewhere between the laughter and the first sip of coffee, the realization settles in:

One year.

Three hundred and sixty-five days since two people did something—small, almost insignificant in the moment—that quietly changed everything.

There is something beautifully unremarkable about how it started.

A message. On LinkedIn. Of all places.

Potatoes.

Not strategy. Not ambition. Not a grand declaration of partnership.

Just… potatoes.

And yet, looking back, it feels less like coincidence and more like something that was always going to happen. A thread that existed long before it was noticed. A conversation waiting to be had.

“Do you think it was fate?”

“Yes.”

Simple as that.

The year that followed was not smooth.

It was not polished.

It was, in the truest sense, alive.

There were hiccups. Misalignments. Moments of what are we actually doing? There were overcomplications (mostly from one side), and calm, grounded recalibrations (mostly from the other). There were ideas—many, many ideas—some brilliant, some unnecessary, all part of the same unfolding.

There were also the quiet moments that matter more than any milestone:

A family evening after a good day.
A shared laugh over something completely absurd.
A message sent at just the right time.
A small win that, somehow, felt enormous.

Because that is what this year became—not a collection of achievements, but a collection of moments that meant something.

If you listen closely, beneath the teasing and the gentle grief, there is a rhythm to it.

The Mayor, with his tendency to turn everything into a narrative, to stretch a moment into meaning, to overthink and then overthink again—pulling things apart only to rebuild them with even more layers.

Fruitloop, with her quiet clarity, her grounded presence, her ability to cut through complexity with something simple, human, and true—don’t overthink it.

Together, something balanced emerges.

Not perfectly.

But perfectly enough.

And that, perhaps, is the lesson of the year.

Not that things became easier.

Not that everything fell into place.

But that alignment doesn’t mean sameness.

It means knowing how the other person thinks—even when they don’t say it.

It means understanding that “this is interesting” is never just a statement—it’s the beginning of an idea.

It means recognizing that celebration doesn’t always look like fireworks; sometimes it looks like sitting with your family, watching a movie, and calling that enough.

It means accepting that one person will always try to fix chaos immediately…
and the other will simply breathe and say, tomorrow is another day.

And somehow, between those two approaches, things work.

There is also gratitude.

Not the loud kind. Not the kind that demands attention.

The quiet kind.

The kind that shows up in a sentence like:

“You changed my life.”

Said without ceremony. Without drama. Almost as if it were obvious.

Because after a year of shared work, shared chaos, shared growth—it is.

And yet, for all that has been built, there is still so much unknown.

There are still things left to discover.

Favourite comfort foods that haven’t been mentioned.
Hobbies that surface briefly and disappear into the noise.
Stories that haven’t been told yet.

The relationship is not finished.

It’s not even close.

It’s simply… continuing.

What makes this year remarkable is not what was achieved.

It’s what was created between two people:

A space where imperfection is allowed.
Where overthinking and simplicity can coexist.
Where laughter carries weight, and serious moments don’t need to feel heavy.
Where small wins are celebrated as real wins.

A space where you can show up as you are—and that is enough.

And maybe that is the future.

Not a grand, distant vision.

But more of this.

More conversations that wander and land somewhere meaningful.
More songs that start slightly off-key.
More questions that reveal something unexpected.
More moments where life feels both chaotic and completely right at the same time.

So yes.

Happy birthday to us.

To the message that was sent.
To the decision that was made.
To the year that unfolded in ways neither of us could have predicted.

And to whatever comes next.

And when life inevitably gets messy again—when the ideas pile up, the chaos creeps in, and everything feels just a little too much—there is only one thing left to do.

Say the Oath to Fun.

And carry on.

Because if this year has taught anything, it’s this:

We don’t need perfect conditions.

We just need each other, a bit of humor, and the willingness to keep going.

Hip hip.

Hooray.