I share my life with many people, but really there are only a few with whom I really share. And there’s been someone I’ve spent more than half my life with.

She’s a funny one. An odd one. Definitely a unique one. She is one on her own.

And I’m so proud that she’s my one. I don’t subscribe to the idea of ownership of other people – we choose to spend parts of our life together, and that choice should always be free and without compulsion.

She’s the one who, many, many years ago asked me “So what are you going to do with your life?” And, as always, my answer wasn’t complete; in fact it barely scratched the surface. Being an ambivalent sort of person I clutched at the first thought that came into my head in the hope it would sound plausible (actually that’s a theme, though more of my career to be honest).

But what I should have said is “Spend my life with you.”

We both work hard. We’re parents to someone quite delightful and onto whom we pour all of our own insecurities. But the one I chose. The one who chose me. Well, she’s special.

Extraordinarily lacking in confidence (and remarkably over-compensating at times), she’s also extraordinary in her ability. She’s got a single-minded drive like no other, and yet is the “life messiest” person I have ever known.

That drive has got her into scrapes. It certainly doesn’t do her much good at times as she barely hangs onto it herself. And all the while she doubts herself.

You know, I do OK in life. In the scheme of things I’m one of the world’s lucky ones. And yet if I had half her drive and a fraction of her ability I could conquer the bloody world and change all of it into a better version for everyone.

She’s the one. The talented, driven one. The one who can barely contain her own abilities.

She’s the one I’m so proud of. The one I want to be a better me for. Hanging onto her coattails might be exhausting but it was so definitely the right choice.

You’re the one. My one. I’ve won.