That Fateful Day

Marriage

On a fair Georgia day late in November my life changed forever. Six months of stress and overwhelming decision-making finally led up to that beautiful, much-anticipated, perfectly romantic day. I donned the most stunning pure silk gown, adorned with elegant beading, simple yet chic sparkling flats and a magical feathery hairpiece to tie it all together. He was handsome, with kind, excited eyes. We stood before our closest family and friends in an enchanted garden courtyard and made a promise to each other…

Thirteen months since that unforgettable day I’m pleased to report that I’m still very satisfied with my spousal selection and predict our happiness will grow with continued fervor for many years to come. Sometimes I still can’t believe I’m married. Quite often I repeat to myself “I have a husband,” “I am a wife,” “Hello, I’m married now.” It comes partly from a place of amazement, and partly due to pure pride in my accomplishment of having so finely selected a life-long mate of such caliber and compatibility. Within my inner monologue, I rerun these self praises that sound something like this: I am the best at picking a husband! No one else can pick a husband as well as I can! We are the most compatible, stable, amazing couple ever created!! He is the greatest man alive! Way to go, self! You did it.

I think it means so much to me because as far back as I can remember, I dreamt of being married. I spent countless hours wondering who he would be, when we would meet, where we would meet, the exact description of his physical features, his hobbies, the fun times we’d have together, what he was doing that exact moment in time…Anything and everything about him, I pondered and anticipated, anxiously awaiting this vital puzzle piece that would connect the rest of my existence together. I couldn’t wait to meet this mystery guy. Consequently, every male of marrying age (which in my teenage brain meant 14 up to age George Clooney) was a potential suitor. Every single man I came into contact with was involuntarily scanned through my inner spouse- detector machine. Each applicant thoroughly assessed, weighed, inspected and secretly auditioned for the part of Mr. Forever in a production only I was aware of. Thousands of poor, unsuspecting men have been mercilessly rejected, many for reasons out of their control, like a failure to be born Italian, or without the ability to grow facial hair. But a fair share were rejected based on factors that are adjustable but nevertheless reveal a deeper character concern, for example, an unhealthy desire to play video games, a basic lack of hygiene, or the audacity to pop his collar. Alas, many mediocre men had to be sacrificed in order for one to stand strong among the ashes.

Despite my love quest obsession, I don’t exactly remember when the search for Mr. Right began. Unquestionably, the manhunt was in full swing by middle school, as my best friends (and diary) can attest. But perhaps my search found its roots much earlier than that. Perhaps in kindergarten, where I met my first friend that was a boy, a little Asian kid who would hold my hand in class even though we were both too shy to speak. Or maybe it was first grade with the boy who spent every recess chasing me around the playground; interestingly we also never spoke (because I always outran him). Or the blonde, blue-eyed boy that sat nearby in Mrs. Burns’ second grade class until he moved to another state and took my little heart with him. I don’t remember at exactly what point I understood the fact that I was searching for a husband but certainly by middle school I knew that I longed to be married and felt that a part of me would not rest until that desire was satiated. I felt deep in my heart that I was built to love another and it was simply a matter of time before my fullest and truest self could rest within the heart of the man built for me. It was the most exciting prospect of my young life!

Ironically, I met the man that I would some day marry when I was only 15 at a summer camp 1,000 miles from home. Although, I did not know he was the man until 7 years later. He caught my eye immediately but in truth I thought he was too cool for me, after all he was 19 and in college while I had only finished my freshman year of high school. We had mutual family friends and remained acquaintances for several years, all the while I continued the search for my future spouse. As time went on we became better friends and spent more time together, although never one on one. He could always make me laugh harder than anyone I knew and I found myself drawn to his fun-loving personality. Amazingly though, the realization that he was the man I spent so much time dreaming about hadn’t occurred to me yet. At the time, I was nearing the end of a two-year relationship with a man who meant the world to me but ultimately had very different goals in life. It was at this moment, when my relationship had fallen apart and I was sitting alone in my apartment that I thought to call my friend, the man who could always make me laugh. After years of solid friendship I knew I could be myself with him, I didn’t have to pretend and I knew he wouldn’t mind if I crashed on his couch while I nursed my broken heart. Two weeks later I knew beyond a doubt that I would marry this man.

Unfortunately, the gently winding path to the alter I had dreamed about was more like a craggy mountain road under construction. Things were complicated, confusing and heartbreaking. And at the same time deeply satisfying and his presence in my life fulfilled some part of me that I’d been longing for. My friends and family cautioned me and had obvious concerns about our relationship at the time. I listened to their words, and even agreed with them but I knew in my heart that someday we’d come together when the time was right. After spending a year apart on opposite ends of the country, our fates aligned and he travelled over 2,200 miles to find me and confess his love. From that day on, he’s had my full heart and on that fair Georgia day late in November we sealed the deal forever.

I think the other reason why I’m so pleased with my selection of spouse is because I come from a broken home. In fact, I come from a long line of broken homes. My parents divorced when my dad walked out on my family 20 years ago. My mom’s parents divorced and my great-grandparents divorced and my great-great-grandparents before that. If history has ever taught me anything, it’s that I’m fighting a losing battle. Divorce has been my greatest fear. I understand all too well the consequences of a failed marriage and I see the devastation it leaves in its wake, even decades after the papers are finalized. I do not want that for my family. I don’t want that for my children. I want to change the legacy for my family, break the curse that’s been passed down through the generations. My marriage will succeed and I pray to God for the help that my husband and I will need. But I feel hopeful and confident in our abilities and the friendship that first drew us together.

So on November 27, 2010, I married the man of my dreams. My heart was satisfied and peaceful. The all-consuming quest to find love finally culminated on that beautiful day and all my years of searching seemed in a way, kind of silly. Life has since moved forward as we enjoy life together, growing, and changing. Marriage is beautiful and intricate, it’s challenging yet natural and simple. I am still me; the same me with all my past struggles and baggage. Marriage didn’t magically change who I am or make all my problems disappear like I sometimes dreamt it would. We bear each other’s burdens and we walk it out day by day. But my heart knows a deeper level of peace now and I’m proud to be married to such a wonderful man. He makes me laugh, he fixes stuff in our house and he truly knows me.