Doug & Ricky, Des Moines

It was a simple, spontaneous moment. And, to me, it was momentous.

As I hunched in the front flowerbed to pull weeds, I caught a glance of my next-door neighbor. "Looking good over there," she called out from her front porch, where she tended her own well-manicured planters. "Well thank you!" I hollered back, a response that felt insufficient given the wave of gratification that came over me. My partner, Ricky, and I had struggled mightily each of our three previous springs together to get the right mix of plants around our front porch. But this year, we finally got it right – at least we were pretty sure we had. It wasn't until our neighbor, whose landscape is nearly always picture-perfect, offered her approval that I knew for sure.

I stood up with a fistful of weeds as she stepped off her porch and walked toward me. "We're just so pleased with everything you guys have been doing to the house," she said. Already, it was the longest conversation I had ever had with her. "You know, for so many years, the people who lived here just didn't take care of the place. So it's so nice to see you out here," she told me as she rattled off the work Ricky and I have put into our home: new roof, new windows, new porch, new paint, and – of course – a hint of a landscaping plan.

I returned the compliments, telling her how much we enjoy her flowers every summer. "Well you just let us know if there's ever anything we can do for you, taking in the mail or checking in on the dogs," she said. "You boys have just been real good neighbors; you're good kids.

That moment, that validation from a near stranger Ricky and I share a small slice of our life with, made me realize we make the biggest impact when we simply live our lives openly, honestly, and naturally. Just as our neighbors do in our modest, blue-collar Des Moines neighborhood, Ricky and I work together in the yard, we enjoy summer evenings together on the deck, and we bicker with each other in the driveway over whose turn it is to mow the lawn. We've never tried to set an example, but somewhere along the way we did. In the midst of real life came real understanding.

The most powerful tool we have in shattering stereotypes is simply being ourselves and inviting others into our lives. I've seen it with my mostly conservative family, who never quite understood why marriage equality mattered until they began to actively share our life. They felt our frustration when our tax bill skyrocketed because we shared employer health benefits, and they saw our hurt when with great excitement we set out to buy commitment rings only to be laughed at in the first jewelry store we visited.

Ricky and I have learned that there's a difference between pushing our views on others and simply living our life as any other couple would. We're no longer nervous to check into a hotel together when we travel, and when we shopped for new bedroom furniture recently, we didn't bother playing the "he's my roommate" game with the salesman. Most of the time, when we're outwardly comfortable with our relationship, so are those around us. When they're not, we simply move on. And yet we worry that a day may come when our comfort level won't be enough. We're strangers before the law, after all. How would we be treated in the chaos of a medical emergency? Could we be at each other's side, or might we be denied access at precisely a time when we'd need each other the most?

That's what's at stake in this debate. To me, the ultimate issue isn't acceptance of our relationship; it's compassion toward us as people. It's the ability to disagree with us without actively pursuing policies that make our life harder. It's the sense to acknowledge that though we may not all head down the same path, we are all entitled to the journey.

As our neighbor turned her attention back to her planters that evening, I moved to the backyard. On the other side of our house, new neighbors were enjoying the evening on their deck. I managed a hesitant wave. We hadn't yet stopped by to introduce ourselves and welcome them to the neighborhood; we weren't sure how we'd be received. But one thing was for sure, I resolved to myself: We wouldn't wait three years this time.