Something That Was Always Meant to Be

On May 24th, I officiated Eliza and Orion's wedding ceremony at the Laurelhurst Club, in Portland, Oregon. Here are the remarks I shared with them and their guests:

From Eliza and Orion, I think we learn something about time.

Because most love stories move in a straight line. You meet, you date, you fall in love.

This one does not.

This one begins in high school, with AOL Instant Messenger, late-night conversations, and, perhaps most impressively, Orion mailing Eliza… a crepe.

Not metaphorically. An actual crepe. Through the mail.

Which, I think, tells you everything you need to know about Orion.

And everything you need to know about Eliza is that she didn’t eat it, but she understood exactly what it meant.

They had crushes on each other. The timing never quite worked. Life took them in different directions, different cities, different relationships, different versions of themselves. And yet, through all of that, something remained.

Orion says it simply: “she always was and still is my favorite person to talk to.”

That is not a small thing.

Because what they teach us is that sometimes love is not about immediacy. Sometimes it is about recognition that takes time to catch up with itself.

Eliza’s life moves through art and reinvention. From photography and music to film work, to coding, to earning a master’s degree in computer science. A path that is not linear, but deeply intentional. A life built on curiosity, creativity, and the willingness to begin again when something no longer fits.

Orion’s path, in its own way, mirrors that. A childhood of building things, literally turning refrigerator boxes into entire worlds. A fascination with science, art, and making people laugh. A life guided not by rigid answers, but by a simple principle he carries from his grandfather: “the only thing you take to your grave is your integrity.”

And somewhere in the middle of those two lives, after years of almost, they find each other again.

Not as teenagers, but as people who have lived enough life to recognize what matters.

And then something remarkable happens. They do not rush. They do not force a story that was not ready before. They simply begin again, this time at the right moment.

Their first real date, years later, is during Portland Burger Week, followed by a comedy show where, as it turns out, the comedian has to point out what is already obvious to everyone else, that this is not just friendship.

And then they take a trip together.

Now, if you want to understand a relationship, you do not watch how people behave at dinner. You watch what happens when things go wrong.

They miss a bus. They get on the wrong one. They end up at the wrong airport, with no clear way to get to the right one, watching their plans fall apart in real time.

And in that moment, Eliza says it best: “it felt ripe for one of us to explode… but he looked at me, held my hand, and we both started laughing.”

And she says, “I think that moment was when I knew.”

That is what they teach us.

That love is not measured by how perfectly a trip goes, but by what you do when it doesn’t.

That the right person is the one you can miss a plane with and still feel like you are exactly where you are supposed to be.

Orion describes their partnership as “a perfect team… we take on tasks as a team and respect each other's independence and quirks without judgment.”

And Eliza, in her own way, says the same thing. She speaks about how he shows up, how he cares for her in quiet, practical ways, how he makes her feel seen, supported, and loved not just in words, but in actions.

And maybe my favorite line of all, she says simply: “he is the best partner I have ever had.”

Not the most dramatic. Not the most complicated.

The best.

So what can we learn from Eliza and Orion?

We can learn that timing matters, but it is not everything. The right person can arrive early in your life and still become the right person later.

We can learn that shared curiosity, shared humor, and shared values create something deeper than chemistry alone.

We can learn that the strongest relationships are the ones where two people can be completely themselves, where conversation never runs out, where even silence feels full.

And we can learn that sometimes, the clearest sign you have found your person is very simple: when everything falls apart, you look at each other… and you laugh.

Eliza and Orion, you have taught us that love can wait, that it can grow quietly over years, and that when it finally finds its moment, it feels not like something new, but like something that was always meant to be.

May your life together be filled with that same sense of ease, that same curiosity, that same laughter, and may you always remain what you have always been to each other: your favorite person to talk to.