wedding

As I was waking up the other day, my mind struggled to identify an odd weight on my finger. After a second, it clicked. The lump was my still-new wedding ring.

If I was writing a short story, this detail would serve as a metaphor for nagging doubt, or perhaps realization the marriage was dragging my life down from the heights of my dreams. Or something.

Thankfully, this isn't a short story. The weight isn't a metaphor, it's just an anecdote about my ring being too new for my mind to take for granted. The titanium ring is slightly raised and now prevents my pinkie from nestling up against my ring finger. My mind most often interprets this sensation as a swollen finger - to my pinkie, it feels like my ring finger has been injured and swelled to the point it has lost feeling. To my ring finger, my pinkie is insane. It's just a little bit of metal to haul around, most of the time unnoticeable. I'm sure before long my mind will become accustomed to the ring's presence and no longer bring nerves' signals regarding the ring to my attention.

For now, this marriage thing is new, but the ring is about the only evidence it happened. Well, the ring and the pile of newly-acquired kitchen products we need to find space for. Next month, I'll hopefully be covered under my new spouse's health insurance, which will make a big difference if I need it but none at all to my daily life.

As the wedding approached, many people asked if I was nervous. Generally there wasn't any nervousness, except on a few occasions when I wasn't sure some of the details for the reception would come off exactly right. But it was obvious the questions weren't about the ceremony or celebration itself.

The questions all had an undertone of "are you nervous about the whole idea of getting married?"

It is, of course, a valid question. Any major, irrevocable decision about life's path is bound to be accompanied by some nervousness. Especially if for you, like me, the phrase "growing up" sounds vaguely sinister rather than a goal to be embraced.

And there was some nervousness about the whole big-picture idea of getting married. For me, and, if she was telling me the truth, for Kirsten as well. It didn't happen as the ceremony approached, though.

For me, the real nervousness came not at the wedding, but rather at the proposal. That's when the natural and expected questions came to the fore: Is this really a good idea? What if it goes wrong? Does this mean I have to grow up and quit doing all those irresponsible things I do? (No.) That was a couple years ago. None of those doubts were seriously carried along to the wedding day. The big ones were dispelled over the past couple years, when, as Kirsten said, we've essentially been married anyway. Certainly while we were out of the country we were rarely apart, and we had to deal with the day-to-day details of living together and melding our different life visions together. Now, the only real difference the wedding made is I'm wearing a ring and I can get on her health insurance.