I got married (kind of) last week. I wasn’t always certain that marriage was for me. In addition to being inherently commitment-shy, I spent a lot of time over-intellectualizing the institution and philosophizing about its symbolism—and, more narcissistically, what it would say about me and who I am, should I succumb to mainstream society’s expectations of me.
I realized, though, that what we devote ourselves to is not the specific contours of the concept of marriage, but to the reality of each other, and of a life together—a life that Tom and I have been test driving for years now.
The evening was magical. It was everything we wanted, from the abundance of daal, kampachi crudo, short ribs, and boba pudding, to the heartfelt yet hilarious toasts and our emotional—vulnerable, even—vows. Friends made their way to us over continents, by multiple modes of transportation. Our dress code was admittedly perplexing, yet we found ourselves blown away by the effort our friends put into their creative interpretations.
It’s been a rollercoaster since then. For the two days immediately after, I felt a comedown not unlike the one I had after our last Jamie xx show, finding myself in a sentimental puddle on the couch, moaning to Tom that everyone had left me. Then, in this past week, I’ve felt a dawning realization: I want to make my world smaller, so that I can love it fiercer.
Our wedding was homegrown and handmade. We had a specific vision that we chose to execute in the absence of professional help—for better or for worse. For two people who are enamored with words, we haven’t been able to find the right ones to express how grateful and how moved we were when our community showed up in force to support us—taking Wally for a beach runaround at the height of our overwhelm, the early bird bonfire crew, hosting and bringing to life our afterparty, my glam squad, our stylist, my day-of hype queens.
How heartbreakingly beautiful friendships can be, how wholly a love story they truly are. I could suddenly foretell that these are the people I’ll know beyond the horizons that we can glimpse today. We only hope that we can show you the same unadulterated devotion, the same excessive generosity one day, any day—for all our days.
Since the 7th grade, my tendency has been to spread myself across social circles and friendships. Friends were my family for much of my life and, as one friend framed it (whether as a compliment or a critique), I “collected” them. Now, I realized, there is entirely too much noise around us and only so much light we each have to give. The wisest way to expend whatever I have is to nurture those dearest to me—those who pay attention, those who inspire in me curiosity and laughter, to seek the beautiful and the profound.
So here’s to a smaller world—one that is carefully chosen and painstakingly nourished; one that is richer, deeper, more precious for its constraints.
this is beautiful <3