Maybes

Some of my best processing happens through writing, and a lot of what I'll be writing for the next few months will likely be either creative or reflective on some level. Things are sensitive right now, so for the time being, I'll be much more cautious with what I post. With that said, I love this post. I might lean more creative or exploratory for the next little while.

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I hated my wedding.

Despite all the temple talk over the years, it was never what I actually imagined if I ever met someone and got married. 

When I was at Mount Rainier, I remember overhearing a ranger talk about how many couples married there in the past month alone. I remember feeling a pang of jealousy. The man seemed a little confused by the choice, but I wasn't.

As a teen and young adult, I wanted to elope, have a destination wedding, or have something small and intimate somewhere remote. I even liked the idea that a courthouse wedding could be sweet with no one else invited but a photographer. 

If marriage is sacred, then I wanted a ceremony with quiet words said between just us and one other person because someone has to witness it for it to be official.  

That doesn't mean I wouldn't want to celebrate with loved ones. It would just look different. I liked the idea of surprising people by inviting everyone to dinner and then walking in with me wearing the dress and him in a suit. Or really any other number of ways. That's what I wanted.

Instead, I was told I had to do it in the temple. Now that ceremony was a shock. I remember saying I wanted to do my own vows and being told I could, but it wouldn't be part of the wedding. I recited what I was told to say, including that I’d always obey my husband. My mom and others told me that it wasn't meant like that, and did I really think that was expected of me? No. And it never was, but I still hated having no choice in the words. They were scripted and impersonal and felt foreign coming out of my own mouth. 

The only thing I had a choice in was the dress, and even that nearly didn't happen.  While I'd deliberately chosen the white version of my dress over the cream, I remember an attendant telling me that morning my dress wasn't plain enough for the ceremony due to the lace. It wasn't until she came into the dressing room to find me crying that I was told that I could. 

Because it was in Texas, on a budget, and I was stubborn and refused to have my reception for free in the cultural hall, I was limited on where we could have it. We did it at my new husband's grandparents’ home. It was lovely, but I had to plan everything from an entirely different state. I remember being frustrated and discouraged. I didn't want to get married in Houston, but my other option was Utah. For food, I was told I should do Chick-fil-A nuggets and a sushi bar. It was very “in.” I shrugged and said okay. I at least got the colors I wanted, and did the Southern tradition of a groom's cake. 

I liked my bridal photos. They turned out beautifully, which is sad because I can't stand to look at them now. 

I have no plans to date anytime soon. I want to make that very clear. I have too much on my plate to think much about it, let alone be emotionally ready for it. From what I understand, the general advice recommended is to avoid relationships or casual dating for at least a year following a divorce. Most advice I've heard is to focus on putting your life back together. 

It's all hard right now. The farthest I can think ahead is the immediate future and a fuzzy, undefined next few months as I make decisions and keep hunting for a job. But sometimes I like to check out from reality for a minute and cling to daydreams of maybes. 

Like the idea of millions of years of layers of red and marbled cream stretching up above a river, with the water rushing over smoothed stones as quickly as time passes. And if you get to a high enough elevation, you can see the carved canyons wind their way through the landscape with juniper and boxelder trees anchored deep in the ground. 

I wonder a lot about what he wants. I want him to tell me, too. To find a way that fits us both.

Does he want others there? Who? Our kids, some family, or just us?

Instead of walking an aisle, what about a trail? We could walk separately, but him still waiting at the end along a cliff’s edge?

To hike somewhere high above it all, maybe with clouds off in the distance with a crack of thunder far on the other side. 

What would be better? At dawn or at dusk? Dawn for the obvious meaning of new beginnings and new chapters, but dusk has its own merit. What might it be like to speak soft words into the wind as the sun sets and turns the sky a color complementing the rocks the rays touch? 

I wonder what it feels like to not be assigned a new name with no choice, but instead choose my own, and this time to claim the gift of his as mine. 

 I imagine I'd be calm and happy as the early evening cools against my skin and causes a slight shiver. To walk back together in the dark, breathing sage and feeling safe because he's with me and I don't have to worry. I like the idea of needing each other as the light fades on the path and slowing down if the other needs to rest along the way. And I wonder what it would be like to get back to an empty lot, save our car, to reach out and touch his arm and just point at the sky as the stars start to shine. Because dawn is breathtaking, but so is the night if you know where to look.

I hope I won't have to say a word either. I don't need someone who knows what I think. I'd rather have someone who knows how I feel. Kindred souls where each other is enough. 

And I won't promise to love him forever. 

I’d much rather vow to love him until the last grain of sand of the canyon we stood over is carried away in the wind that weathers those cliffs away until there is nothing. Because one day we'll all be forgotten, even our language will die and be buried, and I like to think someday someone will dig up the fossilized words I once said that got carried away by some wind. I hope that they'll marvel at something they can't understand and think that it must have been beautiful.