For some reason I have tripped upon a lot of wedding-related writing in the past few days, and it just amazes me how insane people let it make them. I’ve long said that if people put anywhere near the amount of effort into the marriage that they put into the wedding, there’d be far fewer divorces.
I was looking for something else and ran across this photo from our wedding. It was 1983. We were married in our apartment on a cold November afternoon by a judge we didn’t know. A few friends and family came. She made that dress. We’re so young, and she’s so beautiful, that it breaks my heart. Of course, we had no idea what we were getting into. No one does. It’s been as easy as breathing, except for the parts that were awful and hard and painful. But I liked the hard parts, too, because we shared them, came through them, and now there’s just nothing we can’t get through.
A short ceremony in our apartment followed by a nice dinner in a restaurant we liked, a delightful evening out with friends and family. Was it a dream wedding? It’s the marriage that counts.