Wedding planning is a trip, y'all.
Seven months in, with 11 months to go, and so far we have a venue, my dress, and a slew of insecurities rising up every time we try to make a decision. Questions of who we're close with, honest looks at decaying friendships, and what we want our day--and by extension our lives--to be about make planning feel like two steps forward, three steps back some days. Today's meltdown was over the guest list and taking a hard look at who we really no longer have in our friend circles, and why. Old wounds get re-injured. Emotions we don't know exist surface.
I don't know if other people go through this kind of work, or if it's common to process through these kinds of things. Maybe I'm supposed to just taste-test some cake and not worry about the rest. This process has taught me that wedding planning is just one more societal thing that only shows its underbelly once you're in the middle of doing it yourself; people don't like talking about how fucking overwhelming planning one little party can be. I don't even like talking about any of it, lest I become one of ~those girls~ who won't shut up already about color schemes and centerpieces.
Today wasn't all bad, either. We settled on fully embracing our bookish ways and moved full-steam ahead with our literary theme. We found a designer that customizes cake toppers, so we can have Stormy and Stella incorporated into our day's details. I looked at pretty hairstyles, and C. wound up laughing his way through a Goth/Metal wedding blog. We had fun with it.
But because I think transparency and honesty are important, I decided to pop onto here and talk about the tough stuff. The underbelly. The hard questions and tough answers and insecurities. And the love, the constant and calming and persistent love, that pushes us forward like a current pushes a toy boat.
Like the wind carries a paper airplane.
Like our blood carries oxygen.
