Champagne and Socks

There’s no use fighting it, my wedding train has left the station.

I realised this on the weekend when I looked up at C after I’d had a deep conversation with my mother on the phone about main course options and I discovered I had strong feelings against one, and C looked back and said, “That took two weeks.”

As soon as you tell people you’re getting married, and we told our parents literally 5 minutes after I said yes, everyone thinks you should know the date and the theme and who you’re inviting and what you want. I’ve found it really overwhelming. And I realised the other day why.

A year, or a bit more than a year, before I met C (and we were friends for a solid year before we starting dating), I finally realised that it was very possible that I might never meet my special someone, and I might not get married and have children and in fact that I might live as a single person for the rest of my life. I must have been about 32 at the time. Sure, it’s nice to look back at Past!Me and know she was wrong, but it was a really important moment in my life that I don’t regret. Because I seriously confronted myself with that possibility and I made myself think through what that actually meant. I made a list of the dreams that 6 year old me had made and that I might possibly never realise (I already have not delivered on the awesome scientist who heads up her own company making cool sciencey/medical things). And I then spent a year doing two very important things. 1) I grieved for the Jewish wedding I’d never have and the family I would not create and the life that would all become. 2) I asked myself if I could be happy on my own for the rest of my life, and then I worked on myself til the answer was yes. And I really did mourn for Life Path A and became happy to be the person with Live Path B. By the end of that year, whilst I’d been sad about giving up A, I had mourned honestly so that the sadness was behind me and I was genuinely happy with the possibilities that B had to offer.

But what that means now is, I genuinely threw out any emotional attachment, ideas, wishes, preferences or thoughts about a wedding of my own, cause I had begun to think that was just one thing I was never meant to have. And now, I genuinely have no thoughts whenever someone asks me about theme, ring, food, music whatever. And I’m beginning to wonder how much of all that stuff is the industry, and the industry cultivating young girls to want or expect or require certain things from the day (like matching napkin ring holders etc).

Because here’s the other half of all of this. I keep hearing myself apologise/explain “this is not a Jewish wedding.” See what I did there? *Even* though I do get to have a wedding after all, I still have to feel like I’m missing out or it won’t be as good as or it won’t be as important or meaningful as … The words coming out of my mouth are starting to piss me off. Because it feels and sounds like I’m robbing myself of this experience, or part of it. So here’s the thing, C isn’t Jewish, he’s not converting and a Rabbi won’t marry us. And when you tell people in the community that you are “marrying out” sometimes/often that is met with disappointment or pity. And it’s very possible/likely that people who are invited to this wedding won’t attend for that reason, and could you know, excommunicate (Jews don’t actually do that, so it’s more like just never talk to you or consider you alive) me. So there’s a bit of that in the air, let’s say.

I don’t really want to go into it here and I don’t really want to buy into it in my everyday life either. If someone can’t be happy for me because I am happy, then, you know, their being there is just not in the spirit of it. And I’m getting old and grumpy and would just prefer not to be judged. I’ve lived life. In some ways mine has been privileged. Within that, being a bit of an exception, or a non conformist and just plain different, meant I never really fit in. That makes it hard when you live in a small community. And long term readers of my older blog were there for the ride that was my 6 years of dysfunctional relationship with that Jewish guy. I guess I just want to be happy that I finally found my other half. And I just want people who are happy for me, and for us, to be there to celebrate that with us on the day. And I want the day to be about that, and our family and friends who have loved us and supported us all along the way. And the rest? I’m tired.

I’ve been there though, being the disappointed person refusing to be happy at someone else’s union. The general thinking goes that you’re lost from the tribe when you marry out. But when I think about the times that I’ve been disappointed, those people were never really much of the practising within the tribe kind of people to begin with. Can you lose something you never had? I have no doubt how strong my own Jewish identity is. And I know it’s pretty loud and clear every day of my life. My Jewish identity colours everything I do. And when I think about it, there’s no reason to think I’m suddenly going to lose it – I’ve been essentially living with C for almost a year now and if anything, he has picked up way more Yiddish and has learned elements of kashrut that I do practice (eg checking the eggs before he made omelettes for our fried rice last night).

So I’m struggling with determinedly not wanting to become a bridezilla. Not wanting to buy into really caring about tiny, stupid window dressing things that aren’t actually related to the point of it all. But also, wanting to be able to really enjoy this whole thing because we’re only getting married once and this is it! I finally get to have my turn! (See how dangerous that slippery slope is?!)

I really want it to be a celebration of who we are, individually and coming together. And for the ceremony to reflect that – because, *since* it’s not a Jewish wedding, all bets are off. We can baulk all and any traditions we like and make it all up as we go.

As soon as I figure out what our theme colours are.