There have been days in the course of the last few months when I felt as if my life wasn’t mine at all. My life, the life that I like to think of in terms of some sense of normalcy, had been taken over by the wedding life which is much, much different. The wedding life is one in which you leave work to go home and work. It’s the type of life where you wake up in a cold sweat and wonder whether or not you remembered to write down the confirmation number for the tables and chairs you ordered from the party rental company. It is the life that, when it finally comes to a close, reminds you of why you love your life so much.
I love the quiet monotony of my life. Or, perhaps not monotony, but the predictability of it. I like knowing that I have 3 – 4 work-related programs a week, but usually only one of them will take place after 5pm. I like to know that the weekend holds two free days, one of which may be taken up by family obligations. I enjoy the notion that I will leave my desk between 5 – 5:30pm and head to the gym for a group class or to the park for a run. I appreciate knowing that my dinner will be served when I’ve finished cooking it.
Where some may look and see certainty and boring, I see comfort and happiness. I am not a fan of drive-thru dinners or microwaved lunches. I prefer to grocery shop at my own pace, not one dictated by invitation folding or envelope sealing. I enjoy nothing better than sitting on my couch in my jammies at 7pm on Saturday reading an embarrassingly thick novel with the fragrance of multiple scented candles and baking cookies filling the air and a Scottish terrier curled up on my feet.
I’m really not complaining. My wedding was beautiful. My reception was perfect. I am married to a man who makes my heart dance on a regular basis, and who is so much more than I ever expected to deserve.
But now? Now, I am ready for my life to be mine again. Mine and his. His and mine.