Upon two occasions, I have been accused of having a wedding planned out, long before engagement was even in the picture. On two occasions, the accusers of this assumption have been quite wrong.
About a year ago, Martha Stewart Weddings published an issue with a Tiffany blue cover, dotted with engagement rings. I remember getting that issue, and I remember my response to it being quite different than the covers with the cakes and the bouquets on front. The ring signified the start of everything; the ring was what gave you the right to hope for the cake and the bouquet and the dress. When MSW published that issue, it was like they were challenging me to dream, to come out of my “afraid to hope for it” wedding closet, and pick a ring. Which one did I like, it asked me? And then the door was open; as I read through the rest of the magazine, I found myself stopping to say, “would I like that dress? Or those flowers? Or that cake?” instead of looking at all of it from my usual analytical, what-would-every-bride-want mentality that my work usually requires.
I remember, halfway through the magazine, being overcome with sadness. I was wishing and dreaming, and my instinct was telling me something else—that it wasn’t safe to wish and dream. Stop. Stop it right now. “That is so far down the line for you,” my mind told me. Not wanting to get hurt, my heart listened.
The other night, at dinner, the accusation game up again. “I thought you would be one of those girls who had your wedding already planned out,” he said. My heart was immensely grateful that I could respond to him honestly, knowing that he would understand. “Not at all. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought about getting married, but in terms of the details, no, I’ve been afraid to let myself dream about that.”
Sidenote: while I haven’t allowed myself to dream about the wedding, I have been more indulgent, especially lately, about letting myself dream about marriage.
I went on, “I have to admit that lately, I’ve kind of started to let myself hope and dream.” He replied, “It’s ok. You can.”
We’re not engaged yet. And I don’t know when we will be. It might be August, but it might be October, too. And being that he isn’t the planner, I might have to make some gambles, risk some foresight, on things like the dress. I went the other day and tried some on. I’ve never done that before. It was a surreal feeling. I tried on stunning, sophisticated, lavish gowns with ridiculous trains and bows and beading. I ended up loving the simple silk one, with classic pleats that hinted at sophistication, a drop waist that emphasized the length of my torso, a ball gown that echoed back to my dreams of Cinderella.
I think it is going to be OK. I think he is going to propose. I think he is going to be patient and love me for the rest of my life. Now I’m up to the challenge of being patient now, and the factoring of the risk of ordering the dress before this has all taken place.