Hand-written always meant something good, something slightly personal. A small switch flipped inside of me whenever an envelope had spidery peaks or loopy swirls on the front. Today's envelope was a much anticipated wedding invitation.
When I had gotten my first wedding invitation, directly addressed to me, from someone I knew, it hadn't seemed real. My mother had opened it already, and hand delivered it to my dorm. There was no fishing in the mailbox, and no sliding my finger under the flap, ripping to see the contents inside. I was young, and I didn't much know if I was going.
Suddenly, this invitation hit me, square in the forehead. One of my friends was getting married. For real, honest to God marriage. This seemed silly to say, since I already had been a bridesmaid. But this friend had visited me in my college years, consoled me with late night phone calls, and I had enjoyed the random quick facebook conversations we had. This was a real friend, who I was really invested in, who had cared enough along the years to be invested in me as well. It had appeared a long time coming, so there were none of the fakeness and twirls of fairytale romance. This was real.
Why this should hit me, now, standing in my parent's driveway, was beyond me.
Maybe this concept was so hard for me to grasp because I had no plans for my wedding in the immediate future. I didn't think I was ready. Ignoring completely that there was no offer of proposal, I knew I was financially unstable and trying to shake my life into focus.
They say every little girl dreams of her wedding day--and to some extent, this is true. But for me, it was a fuzzy collection of images that may someday come to fruition, and really were incomplete and far away, sailing on a ship, waiting for a time it would be safe to harbor.
When I got married, I wanted to have enough money to have a big party. I wanted there to be tons of dancing and alcohol, with people I truly cared about. I wanted a beautiful, but not extravagant dress and ideally, 3 beautiful women standing alongside me, among my most trusted and true.
I wanted there to be garden lights and ribbon and tulle, and I wanted it to be outside. Maybe some paper laterns and definitely a live band. I wanted a reception longer than 2 hours, where everyone danced into the night. I wanted something simple and elegant. I wanted it to be special, and I wanted to be mature enough to enjoy it and deserve it.
Life just hadn't led me there yet. I wasn't ready for it. So I had a hard time realizing other people were.
My ideas of weddings saw people getting together later in life, in their 30s. My brightest and happiest memory of a wedding was when I was 12, and a flower girl for my aunt. Everyone stayed up at Solitude and danced all night, the decorations and food was adult, and real. And beautiful. I knew my aunt was in her 30s then. Stable. With a beautiful party for all her friends.
It was something I was excited for, but distant. Much like growing up.
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