Last updated on May 30, 2025
On June 7, my husband Robin and I will celebrate twenty years of marriage.
Two whole decades.
And let me tell you—reaching a milestone like this stirs up a lot more than you’d expect. It’s not just joy or nostalgia or the usual trip down memory lane. There’s something else that sneaks in, too. A little tenderness. A little ache.
Not because anything’s wrong.
But because when something’s been so good, it’s only natural to wish you could go back and do it all over again—just to feel it twice.
Even the hard parts.
Even the cancer diagnosis that turned our world upside down, but taught us how to hold each other tighter. Even the long flights, the unexpected detours, the tough decisions we had to make before we had the benefit of hindsight. I wouldn’t erase any of it. It all feels valuable now. Sacred, even.
There’s something strange and beautiful about reaching a moment like this and realizing that even the struggle was a kind of treasure.
It’s made me wonder—why is it that big milestones sometimes carry a little sadness alongside the celebration?
I think it’s because when you stop and reflect on how far you’ve come, you also start to feel just how much you love what you’ve built. And that love makes you aware of time—how fast it moves, how precious it is, how fiercely you want more of it together.
But mostly, this season feels like gratitude.
Because the past 20 years? They’ve been rich with memories.
We’ve eaten more pizza than I’ll ever admit in public—always thin crust, always shared. We’ve danced to live music on rooftops in foreign cities and dusty dive bars at home. We’ve traveled the world, collecting magnets from every country we’ve visited—each one a little snapshot of a moment we wanted to hold onto. Our fridge is covered in them. It’s like a scrapbook in 3D.
We’ve had our fair share of misadventures, too—missed trains, weird hotel rooms, wild weather, the usual travel chaos. And still, we always find a way to laugh. To dance. To fall in love with life (and each other) again.
So yeah, it’s been a good run.
Robin has this toast he loves to give at parties. It’s from a movie called The Long Kiss Goodnight, and it’s become a bit of a family motto:
“May the best of your past be the worst of your future.”
It gets me every time.
It’s a line that gives you permission to celebrate what’s behind you without clinging to it. To believe that even greater joy might still be ahead. That your future might just outshine even the best of your memories.
That’s what I’m holding close this year.
Because the more I reflect, the more I realize that milestones aren’t endpoints—they’re markers. Trail signs. Places to stop, take a deep breath, look around, and keep moving forward with intention.
If you’re approaching a milestone of your own—a birthday, an anniversary, a healing moment, or something harder to define—I hope you let it hold everything. The joy. The reflection. The ache. The hope. Let it remind you how much life you’ve already lived… and how much more is possible.
Let it inspire you to love harder. Laugh louder. And maybe collect a few more magnets along the way.
To Robin—thank you for dancing through life with me. For being the steady, hilarious, big-hearted partner I never knew I needed until the universe dropped you right in front of me. Here’s to the next adventure. The next dance. The next late-night pizza.
And here’s to this:
May the best of our past be the worst of our future.
About the Author
Leslie Nance is a Holistic Cancer Coach, Certified Holistic Nutritionist, speaker, and author. She helps women heal with clarity, courage, and soul. Writing and teaching about mindset, wellness, and living a life that feels as good on the inside as it looks on the outside.
