About two months ago, someone asked me to marry them, and the moment was nothing short of a scene from a cheesy Hallmark movie. As we strolled around one of America’s oldest cities, we stumbled into a park. It was spacious. There were empty park benches and a pavilion that looked untouched. Raindrops dripped off the park benches as the rain from the morning found its way into the soil beneath the chairs. Behind us, people were moving in and out of store doors. Small bells chimed as people rushed their kids in and out, buying boutique clothes that they would soon grow out of. As we stepped into the park, the crowds of the busy shops behind us faded into the background. This park sat in the middle of it all but somehow kept a dome of peace around itself.

The white pavilion in the middle of the park seemed so inviting. The paint was chipping in some places, and some of the wood slats were uneven. It wasn’t perfect, but it was beautiful. As we stood in the pavilion and he started mumbling his speech to me, music started playing. Etta James’ “The Love of My Man” blasted through my quiet, serene headspace, sending birds flying overhead. It was at this moment that, in front of me, was the largest and shiniest diamond I had ever seen in my life. It was also at this moment that I had forgotten his entire heartfelt and stumbling speech.

At this point, I was absolutely filled with joy, but not because of my big ring and not because of my perfect Italian boyfriend. Not even because I felt like I was the star in a cry-worthy Hallmark movie. I felt joy for an entirely different, unexpected reason. I felt joy because the days prior that we spent tired and grumpy with one another, the night before when we ended dinner early because we were bickering—we woke up the next day, and he still chose me.

Unlike the societal norm of today, we got engaged after only five months of dating. That fact gives people pause. It then usually follows with unsolicited advice about how engagements should wait until there are years of dating are under our belts, not months. I’m not necessarily an inexperienced baby when it comes to dating; however, I am also not usually the most wise in the room. After all, there is only so much knowledge a 25-year-old can soak up. When I first started working in the hospital, my favorite thing to do was to talk to all the “old people.” I used to joke that everyone over the age of eighty could be my patient. I liked listening to them and subtly asking for advice without them knowing it. It became a habit of mine to ask older couples how long they had been together, and the majority of them would answer with “forty years,” “fifty years,” “sixty years,” or “I can’t remember life without my wife in it.” I would ask them for the secret to staying together so long. They would usually follow up my question by asking me why I wasn’t married yet, which I brushed aside. I got mostly the same general answer from all of them: “marry your best friend and someone you can laugh with” and “marriage isn’t about romantic love; it is about commitment and persistence.”

In that moment when my boyfriend was down on one knee, with a shaky hand and a smile on his face, I was filled with joy because I realized I hit the jackpot. Commitment and persistence, despite all of our bickering that weekend. No one has told me that marriage is finding someone you never argue with. Everyone says that there will be ups and downs, and there will be times when you don’t like each other. There will definitely be times when leaving feels easier than staying, but commitment and persistence are what keep two people together.

After I said yes, the church in the center of the square rang its church bells, further contributing to my Hallmark movie theme. I kept the news to myself for about five whole minutes before telling everyone we passed on the street my big news. I only showed them my big ring, though. I kept the true reason for my joy to myself.