Do you remember when you were a teen and reading books or watching movies and you’d think about your future and it was all possible?
What would you be? Where would you go? Who would you date, marry, live happily ever after with?
The world was full of so many firsts. So many big events.
Sometimes when I read YA, and am put back in those teen romance angst years, I feel pangs of grief. I feel like this sounds crazy because who wants to go back to the angst? The angst took over my life, it was terrible, so many what-ifs, so many possible social blunders and hurt feelings and crushed hearts (99.9% my hearts). What am I mourning? Why do I cry at the parts no one is crying at?
Because that part of my life is done. The part where anything was possible. The wide open what-ifs. That’s over. Not completely, 100%, I mean I guess there is still the small possibility of living in far off lands and I still do have some firsts left to tackle, but… you know what I mean.
I met the man I was going to marry.
I had my wedding.
I had my first baby.
I picked my career and scramble daily to solidify that path.
I moved home.
This is it! My life is happening! I know who my husband is, I know who my first child is. It no longer can be anything at all. It is what it is and it is great, but it is also limited.
Marriage is the death of possibility. That sounds overly dramatic. It is the birth of stability, in a way. And in a way, it IS the death of possibility. You’re making a choice that forever and ever you’re waking up to that one person. That body with your body. The faults with your faults. The laughter, adventure, sickness, health with all of yours. Matched up, sewn together, bound hands and feet. We’re in it to win it. You and me, kid. And all of that.
But it will never be the dashing Scotsman.
It will never be a honeymoon in Greece.
My wedding dress is/was my wedding dress. It will never not be.
And sometimes it is nice to look back and think, “Thank god THAT’S over!” but then other times it feels like it all happened too fast. I could do it better the second time around. Think of all the things we know now! Think of how far we’ve come. But it’s over. It’s just started. But part of it is already complete. Check, done, moving forward.
It makes me sad. I’ll never be 17 again. Thank god. But, I’ll never have those wide open what-ifs again, either. No matter how happy I am, I miss being able to dream about the could-bes. I miss the possibility of it all.