Last Friday was my fifth wedding anniversary. Initially, I wasn't going to write about it, because I'm not sure how relevant it is. In fact, the further the date slips into the past, the more content I am to let it slip by, unacknowledged.
When I study the few pictures from the day that I can look at without feeling sick or wanting to cry or both, I feel split. As much as I still am that bride, I also don't recognize her. A 22-year-old girl wearing 12 pounds of underwear under a white polyester dress. She looks absolutely miserable behind a too-wide smile. Or maybe I just see the misery in photographs because I remember.
I was terribly constipated that day. I was angry at Rob for not having gotten a haircut beforehand - "the day you will be PHOTOGRAPHED more than any other day of your LIFE!" - and I was angry at Rob's father for refusing to dance with Rob's mother, and then for changing out of his tuxedo well before the reception was over. I was uncomfortable around the photographer, who made Rob and me do a bunch of goofy poses instead of shooting candids. I had one bite of wedding cake (which wasn't very good) before my plate was whisked away in the flurry of clean-up. I tried to be a good sport about it. But shortly after Rob and I arrived at our hotel, I collapsed into a heap of tears and rice.
I tend to focus on these relatively superficial wedding day disappointments because the deeper, genuine source of my unhappiness still stings after five years. I spent most of my wedding day half-convinced that I was making had made a huge mistake.
Now, five years later, I know I made a huge mistake. I was in such a hurry to have these things I never thought I'd have - a partner, a husband, a wedding - these things that I thought would make me happy, that I forgot that I was supposed to be happy! Let me say that again: I actually managed to forget (or, more likely, unconsciously ignore) the "happy" in "happily ever after."
People get married because they want to be together. Not because they worry about never being with anyone.
At least, that's how the story goes.
My story didn't go like that. (Because I'm a bad writer. Of romances, anyway.) But as much as I hate not being able to look back on my wedding day and the beginning of my marriage with shiny, happy thoughts, I'm kind of glad it didn't "work out" the way I imagined.
Being a 22-year-old bride didn't save me from my unhappiness. I don't know why I thought it would. I'm not a hearts-and-flowers, someday-my-prince-will-come girl. I'd much rather watch a black comedy than a romance. Which is exactly why my poorly-written story turned out so well, I suppose.
This marriage with its not-so-fairytale start, this less-than-perfect partnership, has revealed much more of my true self than I suspect an "ideal" match would. When the thing that was supposed to make you not unhappy doesn't do its job - and often makes you more unhappy - you spend some time figuring out what actually does make you happy. Which, if you're me, means finally getting acquainted with your true self after 27 years. And it just so happens that my true self is someone I don't mind hanging out with. I certainly like her better than the insecure bride of five years ago.
Luckily, the leading man in the story seems to like her, too. And while I was content to let the day pass without really acknowledging it, he wasn't.
"I'm kind of sorry we're not doing anything big for our five-year anniversary," Rob told me last Friday. "Five years is kind of a big one."
Rob opened a bottle of sparkling wine that he'd bought for the occasion, chosen especially because, as he explained it, "Hey! Wine, Monterey, and Sofia Coppola: all things Noelle likes!" I put on a playlist I'd made especially for Rob: songs I know he likes, songs I was pretty sure would make him laugh, songs with in-jokes and memories from our relationship so far. It was just celebratory enough for our funky little romance.
And, for me, quite a happy anniversary.
Happily...for the foreseeable future.
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