For the last eight months, I've been planning. Getting the nest ready. Reading up (as I do). Largely excited with a tiny bit of natural anxiety mixed in. Friends and colleagues (and of course the daily strangers) have remarked about how well I am doing. How happy I seem. I am.
When I got engaged a few months ago, I failed to immediately envision my perfect wedding (to the disappointment of many).
Within days, we were asked whether we had a date yet. The answer was no and continued to be no for a few stressful months. I didn't know what kind of dress I wanted right away and I sure as hell didn't have a color scheme (orange/grey? aqua/tangerine? what about hot pink and yellow?!). I have friends who have been thinking about their big day for years. They are ready for it. Me, I'm beginning to have a clue. And the thing is, I am really excited to be married. But I have realized that the more interesting thing about all of this is understanding what marriage really means to me and how it changes my relationship with Gerry.
I cleared everything off of my desk last Friday and it all sits in boxes in my living room today. A yellow bowl, Leftover tea, HR books, Books about leadership and building community, "Charlie the camel," Cards from friends, Pictures. Six years into boxes. It's heavy.
People talk about how important it is to get some distance from your life every now and then. This is the first time in a long time that I have really gotten distance. Long weekends here and there, but never the luxury of two weeks. In fact, my last big vacation was three years ago, and then, I only allowed myself nine days for a trip to Tokyo for my thirtieth birthday.