I’ve committed the cardinal sin in creation and art and projects- I started something, A.K.A. this blog, and I got distracted and dropped it. I’ll tell you something it’s not easy being a conscious creature with all of those wired in internal hang ups. This isn’t the first project I’ve picked up and put down only to run away and to find something else, surely more shiny. I actually have an entire memoir I’ve written, 60,000+ words, 100+ pages and I can’t bring myself to finish the ending of it because – because I don’t know why.
So before I even dive into the world of that I’m diving into the world of this, this being my beloved blog that I’d already worked hard on, convinced myself it was boring, and dropped. Now I’m coming back around and making nice and apologizing to it for talking so much shit, this blog project is only an infant after all, and why would you talk that kind of shit to an infant?!
I will say that I got heavily distracted by outside events that turned my world upside down.
And let me just warn you this is a longer post, so if you don’t give a shit to read it all then you can go and skip ahead and look at all the photos I’ve already posted a billion times on Facebook and instagram.
My husband Max and I had a destination wedding planned. One that was going to be perfect, on the beach in Jamaica with all our friends and family. I already had the dress and the lines I was going to say in my vows in front of everyone we knew, which, admittedly was making me really nervous. Really stressed. Really a big ol’ monster who always had stage fright and lost elementary school spelling bees because my nervousness overcame my ability to spell and spell well. I’ll never let go of the victories I should have had in those three years in a row of spelling bees.
On top of that, out of nowhere, Max lost his job.
On top of that, I’m an executive assistant to a CEO and so I already have a whole entire world of shit that stresses me out that’s not even my own, so – let’s add wedding stuff on top of it. I cried, I sobbed, I kicked my feet. I was so unhappy and stressed thinking about what needed to be done, planned, saved up for yet and on top of that finding a solution in time with Max. I remember looking at him and beginning to resent him for our wedding. Can you imagine? ‘Man you suck, why are we getting married? It’s all your fault I’m suffering.’
So I asked myself. Why were we getting married? Obviously we loved each other. Obviously we’d already overcome so much in the three years we’d been together. Obviously I couldn’t imagine myself with anyone else. I shit my pants one Super Bowl in a black out stupor and Max still loved me. The reasoning obviously was all right, he was and is in fact, the one. Why the hell was I unhappy then? Every time we were discussing the wedding, every time we brought it up to plan it and talk about it I couldn’t help but pay attention to the fact that I had an overwhelming urge to vomit.
AHA! And vomit I did. I vomited out the truth about the whole thing, about the fact that I didn’t even care about a wedding at all and all I really cared about was becoming this dude’s wife. But there I was, yielding to these expectations of everyone around me with their weddings and wedding hashtags and wedding registries laden with roombas and Nutribullets. Everything about what we were doing, the boxes we were ticking, everything was everyone else and not us and it was making us miserable.
And then we cancelled the wedding. Even after we’d sent out the fancy post card save-the-dates with our little engagement photos on it. We cancelled.
Now what? We knew we wanted some kind of little ceremony, somewhere. We didn’t just want the courthouse. I ended up googling something I’d heard about called ‘elopement packages’.
This isn’t a paid ad obviously but shout-out to www.simplyeloped.com!
For one fee of around $1000 we got to pick a spot in NYC (there are plenty of states that also do this with lovely locations); the package consisted of an officiant, a bouquet for me, a boutonniere for him, a photographer and a bottle of champagne that we substituted with apple cider because, well, see a previous blog post of yesteryear – I’m a former booze hound. The only thing we had to do was make sure we had a wedding license and that we got to our location on time.
For a location, we ended up choosing the New York Public Library. Since we would be getting hitched in this old city that we loved so much, we wanted it to be somewhere historic and architecturally beautiful, a landmark. We could think of no other place more magical than a great big, old New York City house of literature.
The day of the wedding was so special to me. I woke up, as I usually do, right before the sun comes up and I actually felt excited about my wedding day. There were no butterflies, no nerves, no more self induced nausea. There was only the truth about what we wanted that I was happy we were finally going after. Something that was completely us. Just the two of us in fact, we kept it that way so that we might recite our vows intimately and only to each other.
We both got ready in our apartment and when I finished doing my own hair, make-up, and putting on my dress I walked out into the living room for him to see. He was in a tux he’d rented, the first time I ever saw him in one, and I thought to myself – DAMN. This, this here is right.
I won’t go into great detail, as I like to keep the events that unfolded that day as something between him and I.
But suffice to say, from the beginning where we waited on our Brooklyn sidewalk for our Uber, hearing ‘Congratulations!!’ from every passing car and person, all the way to the end where we made our way back to our apartment to go get tacos (our first meal as a married duo). Everything about the ceremony, our slightly eccentric officiant, the glass Max stepped on, the watching passerbys, and the cheering and clapping when it was all made official – it was nothing short of perfection. Our kind of perfection.
A few hours later, true to our passions of seeing the world together, we boarded a plane for Italy. Jet lagged, laughing, in love and in Rome we had our official wedding dinner at a beautiful restaurant. Casa Coppelle is truly exceptional and should absolutely be enjoyed if you’re heading out to Rome with a loved one.
Not to mention, on what would have been our actual wedding date (May 11th, 2019), there ended up being a state of emergency issued in Montego Bay (where our wedding was to be) for – wait for it, homicides! It turns out, the universe really is on your side about things. Even the things that go seemingly wrong. I’m not so arrogant as to think that my little human brain comprehends at all the grand plan here. Sometimes I can hear God and all the angels face palming at the fact that I have moments where I don’t trust them.
So, here I am. Getting back on the horse here where I’d lost it and what better way to do so than to share our marriage adventure? This kind of stuff, putting together something, creating something can never be a straight line anyway. We’re only trying our best with these little human brains. We always just have to get back onto it and get going and I have to say, I’ve got some great material coming up and some great trips and tips planned.
I will point out three tips as a side note for the weary travelers:
- In Rome, if little men by the tourist attractions insist on putting a bracelet on your wrist and give you flowers and tell you how good looking you are and claim you have three wishes – they will definitely take American dollars, so don’t worry if you’re out of Euros.
- Italians don’t know what diets are and alcoholism isn’t really a thing there. Case in point, we asked for Apple cider in our honeymoon package from our Airbnb hosts telling them I was sober and didn’t want champagne. They provided two bottles of cider, thank GOODNESS because I was mighty thirsty. So thirsty, I didn’t pay attention to the label and chugged a four point something percent alcoholic cider. Don’t worry guys! I’m here to report I didn’t foam at the mouth and go on a week long bender. Maybe I was somehow protected from this fluke being in the land of the Pope and all. My sobriety remains unscathed.
- Again, diets don’t exist in Italy. That’s what an Italian said. So, eat literally everything.