I met my wife, Susan, in 1975 while filming Rancho Deluxe in Montana. We were shooting a scene at Chico Hot Springs when I saw her—gorgeous, but with two black eyes and a broken nose from a car accident. Her beauty and disfigurement fascinated me. I kept sneaking peeks, and she kept catching me. After work, I asked her out, but she said no. She added, “Maybe we’ll run into each other later.” And we did. We danced, and I fell in love.

Our first date was looking at a ranch house with a local real estate agent. As we walked around, I thought, “You’re looking at a house with your future wife.” It scared me. I loved her but feared losing my freedom. After two years, I asked her to marry me, reassuring myself that divorce was an option. Thankfully, I committed. Marriage opened doors to children, grandchildren, deeper intimacy, and more.

Susan has taught me a lot. She points out ways I defeat myself, and I do the same for her. For example, when I’m afraid of new projects, she reminds me, “You always get like this when you’re asked to do something new.”

Our relationship, despite its ups and downs, is precious. We’ve had one ancient war: “You just don’t get me; you don’t know me.” It’s true—we’ll never entirely know each other. But every conflict brings us closer, knowing we’re in it together.

Having fought through 35 years of marriage, I now welcome conflict as an opportunity to love each other more.

Jeff Bridges is an Academy Award-winning actor and author of The Dude and the Zen Master, from which this essay is adapted.