You know that age-old question: “If you met your 20-years younger self, what would you tell them?” Today, I know the answer to that question.

Because 20 years ago today, my life changed.

I was in Tukwila, Washington, at the Claim Jumper restaurant (sadly, it’s closed now). I’d recently moved 2,000 miles to the Seattle area for work, and within weeks of that relocation my marriage imploded. I’d made the first moves toward filing for divorce. I was in the process of making the difficult decision to move my grandmother, who had raised me, out of the home she had lived in for 40 years and into assisted care. I was physically exhausted and mentally worn out.

20 years ago today, I’d made plans to meet my friend Linda for lunch. She knew about everything that was going on, and thought that it would be good to take my mind off things for a while (read: have a good venting session about my soon-to-be ex). I was early and it was a nice day, so I was waiting outside, checking email on my Blackberry (my goodness. Remember those???).

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

And with that, my world changed. I looked up at the speaker – a man, dressed in work attire – shirt, tie, blazer. Blond, blue eyes, probably about my age. I shrugged. “Not at all – help yourself.”

He sat down next to me. I continued scrolling through my email.

“Excuse me again, but that stone in your ring – is it a tanzanite?”

I looked at him in surprise. Yes, it was. Most people couldn’t identify it, and usually guessed it was a sapphire. I told him so.

“I’m not surprised. I can tell because of the colouring. Where did you get it?”

We continued chatting for while – Linda had texted me that she was running late, so I figured there was no harm. I learned that the tanzanite-spotter had also just started a job in the Seattle area, was meeting a business associate for lunch, and that he had a degree in geology, which was how he was able to spot the tanzanite. He learned that I’d just moved to the area, and was still trying to find my way around. He had suggestions for me on things to do in the area and restaurants to try.

Linda arrived. I told the tanzanite-spotter it was nice talking to him, and to have a good day.

“Wait – can I have your number?”

I blinked. Didn’t expect this. I took a breath, and gently said, “Um, you’re very kind, and seem very nice. But, no. It’s complicated.”

“Fair enough. What about an email? I can send you a list of my favourite hikes in the area. You don’t have to answer.”

I hesitated. He did seem nice. So I gave him the email address I use for spam accounts that was associated with a fake name. I walked toward Linda, and into the restaurant.

“Who was THAT?” she asked. “He’s kind of cute.”

“I don’t know,” I said. We hadn’t even exchanged names.

And that was that, until I checked that spam email a few days later. Sure enough, there was an email from a sender I didn’t recognize. The subject line said, “Tanzanite”.

That started an intermittent correspondence that went on for the next several months. The email correspondence turned into meeting for lunch at that same Claim Jumper, with the intention of having lunch with each other that time. We now consider that our first date. (I did tell him my real name sometime before that). That lunch turned into dinner the following week, and a hike the following weekend.

Over the next twenty years, we got married (18 years ago), lived in four different states, and moved at least 15 times (I’ve lost count). We paid off three sets of college loans (mine for a graduate degree, and his two daughters’ bachelors). We’ve found jobs, lost jobs, changed jobs, and finally both retired. I gained a family. We have two grandchildren. We’ve traveled to more than a dozen countries, with more on deck. We’ve hiked countless miles all over the world. For our 10th anniversary, we traveled to Tanzania, where I got another tanzanite ring that I wear all the time. We’ve done it all together, as a team. Now we find ourselves in Panamà, ready for the next set of adventures.

So if I were to meet my 20-year younger self, I would tell them:

It gets better. Trust yourself. And the next 20 years will be great.