Ten years ago today, I was a single mother living in Santa Monica.  My kids were six and three – they felt so grown to me at the time, but of course were impossibly young – and we did not own a car.  I worked at and Emet attended a Waldorf charter school and Jade was in preschool at a local early childhood center.  It was a Wednesday, which were early dismissal days.  Ordinarily, I would round up the kids and we’d ride our bikes to the park or the beach and we almost always got frozen yogurt on the way home.  On this particular Wednesday, however, we headed to the home of a friend who’d agreed to watch my kids for a few hours while borrowed his car and drove myself to a meeting.

A few weeks earlier, I had spent the weekend at Coachella.  I met a variety of interesting people as is the nature of a large music festival in the California desert, one of whom was a tech entrepreneur who was an acquaintance of my father.  (Everyone is an acquaintance of my father.)  We had a random conversation in between sets from the XX and Muse (oh, 2010!), and I told him I didn’t have a car or a computer and fancied myself a bit of luddite.  I’m pretty sure I was barefoot at the time.

For whatever reason, the impression I made stuck and sometime in the middle of the next week, I received a phone call.

“Lynzie, I got your number from your father.  You’re very interesting, and I’d like you to come work for me and my start-up.”

It was fortuitous in that I was needing to look for summer employment as I was paid hourly and would therefore not have income during the months that school was on break, so I agreed to a meeting the following Wednesday.

I don’t remember feeling nervous, but I do remember putting on a strappy pair of heeled shoes which was not something I would ordinarily do.  I also put on lip gloss which is my version of a full face of make up.  I think I wanted to look polished and professional and not like an urban cyclist slash Waldorf kindergarten teacher.

When I arrived to the Hollywood Hills mansion where the meeting was to take place, I was greeted at the door by a person I had yet to meet, but who had clearly been expecting me.  He introduced himself and told me the person I had come to see was waiting for me on the second floor and that he’d lead me in the right direction

We passed through the foyer and through the first living room, where two guys with computers were both sitting on the floor.  The person leading me informed me of their names without really formally introducing me, and I smiled politely as I continued to the stairwell in the corner of the room.

The meeting was quick and relatively informal; I agreed to start the following Monday and my duties would include general office tasks as well as a bit of copy writing.  We shook hands, and I started to make my way back toward the door, relieved that the job search was over and thrilled that I’d actually be earning a decent amount of money doing work that sounded kind of fun.

As I moved through that first living room, one of the guys looked up at me and waved as I passed.  I remember being told his name was Babe and that he lived in North Carolina, and I remember immediately thinking that I absolutely wanted to know more, and I definitely attributed that wave to what I was sure to be his cordial southern charm.

It’s hard to believe an entire decade has passed since that afternoon and it’s even more mind boggling to think of that simple encounter as being the beginning of what has become a defining relationship in my life.  

A nostalgic gal like me can’t help but reminisce about the years we have been together and it seems more than appropriate to take a look back at some of the highlights.  Over the next few months leading up to our anniversary, which we’ll officially celebrate on 8/20, I plan on sharing bits of our journey. 

Ours is a great love story, one we are lucky enough to still be writing together.

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