According to the U.S. Social Security website's life expectancy calculator, a woman my age is expected to live until she is 86.3 years old.

(Men, I checked yours, too, and you’re looking at 82.5. Sorry.)

Now, at just 19 years old, assuming I live to meet my expected age and don’t tragically die in some unforeseen event, I have 67.3 years left. And something a lot of people seem to struggle with is why, with 67.3 years left of life, I’ve chosen to be in a committed relationship with a boy who lives four hours away when I could be “living the college life” and “meeting other cute boys,” in the words of my peers and elders.

Let me tell you a secret: I didn’t choose it. It just happened.

When my boyfriend and I met about a year and a half ago, we instantly fell for each other. We were together for a very happy five months before I decided to break it off before getting any more serious because I didn’t want to have a long distance relationship when I left for college the coming fall while he, being a year younger, stayed in high school.

And then for the next four months after that, I thought about him, constantly, and he thought about me. One night in July, we walked out of the restaurant we work at together and I realized I locked my keys in my car. I had no one local to call to pick me up or let me in, as my entire family was on vacation. So I called the local police department where my uncle worked and explained that I needed to get in my car and they said they would send someone over. And while I sat on the hood and waited, my ex-boyfriend sat with me, insisting he would stay until I was in my car safe. Even when my best friend came to sit with me after reading my panicked texts about being alone with him, he stayed. He did not get in his truck until I had gotten into my car and driven away. And then I realized that what I felt for him was a lot more than a crush and I was tired of ignoring it and angry at myself for letting him go.

A couple weeks and awkward conversations later, we were back together, and since then, our relationship has become a beautiful and flourishing connection. I don’t know how to describe the happiness he brings me, but I do know that it is ten times better than the temporary satisfaction of being hit on by some drunk guy at a frat party.

I know I’m young, and I know it’s rare to be in love at this point in my life. But I’ve learned more about myself, more about love and life from him and our relationship than I ever would have thought possible. I’ve learned the importance of faith and trust, I’ve learned how to be independent and live my own separate life while having the best support system a girl could ask for. I’m on cloud nine out here.

I can deal with it if you don’t approve- for a while, my own family had a hard time wrapping their heads around it because they were afraid I would be held back by the strains of a long-distance relationship. But they’ve learned, just as I have, that my boyfriend encourages me to soar, instead of holding me back. Judge me if you want. But I’m happier than I’ve ever been actually. And now, I have 67.3 years to live and love as wholeheartedly as possible thanks to what I’ve learned at just 19 years old.

So no, I’m not crazy to be in love at 19. I’m actually pretty damn lucky.