Sadly, that feeling is pretty transient. Less than an hour later, while trying to iron out a detail or two of the remaining week, I suddenly became vulnerable again, made of flesh, not light or granite, human, pliable, and able to be hurt.
I'm getting married in seven days, six, if you don't count today. I've been quite quiet on this space because my wedding and marriage have been ruling the majority of my brain space for some time now, and this is not a wedding blog. I didn't want to log on here and use more of my time to think about centerpieces, or organizational skills, or conflict with loved ones. This is a space about questions and identity and discovery and joy and struggle. Weddings and marriages encase both of those, of course, but some of my life has felt so pedestrian lately, that I just couldn't bear spreading it all out here.
Things I've been meaning to think about instead of my wedding:
- my upcoming 30th birthday
- my long-form writing project, and what decisive direction I can take it in to continue trying to reach my goals as an artist
- how to get a better teaching job, or a better job of any kind
- how much longer my sweetheart and I want to live here in Chicago
- how to get health insurance, now that my health insurance company has dropped me--or will, within the next 30 days
- how to increase discipline into my life
- how to make strides in my yoga practice, without actively wanting to be stronger or more flexible
- his writing
- his life as an artist
All these things I have run my fingers over, and then left behind on a shelf, to think about seating charts and bars and shoes and jobs for my hideously large family to do.
I am so looking forward to this coming day, to all of the people who will be there, who will be happy to be there, to have some of the magic and the beauty and the dedication that exists between me and mine rub off on them. I am equally looking forward to the time where we can sigh and sleep and tangle our limbs together and eat tasty food off our fingers and get up and go to bed when we want to. Rest.
I believe that something good happens when I am vulnerable, instead of indestructible. I believe that I am better able to feel, to feel myself, to feel the world around me, to feel loved ones, when I am soft and touchable, instead of invincible. It doesn't mean I don't get hurt; it's not even noon yet and I've already gotten hurt. I can't say something trite like it's worth it. I can only say that I want to be able to feel his fingertips, and all the hugs (good lord all the hugs) and the bubbles in my mouth, and that means taking the hit. Not bracing against it, just taking it.