Lonnae O’Neal: Fresh insights from a hurricane bride
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Version 0 of 1. I’m just back from my wedding, and as a member of the newly nuptialed, I’ve got these fresh insights. I thought I had insights before the wedding, but then I got caught up making contingency plans as Hurricane Joaquin menaced the East Coast. So that’s my first insight. Don’t get married in a hurricane. At least not on the beach. Understand that if the bottom wooden stairs at the beach venue have just been washed away, that does not bode well for your bridal hair. Or, for that matter, smaller guests. But if you do get married with the wind churning the sea, just move everything indoors and know that you are going to love everyone that much more who braved the elements to be there with you. Weather is eternal, unpredictable, a changer of fates and plans, and through all life’s storms, we can choose to show up for each other. To be ride or die. And isn’t that a perfect way to celebrate love? This is my second marriage — same for my husband — so I had prided myself in all of the wedding trappings I was able to let go. A friend could do my makeup; I could do my own hair. High-end disposable plates (that could be recycled) were just fine. And when my 13-year-old son, who was to give me away, got his neat little Afro cut into a mohawk just days before the ceremony, I took it in stride. Actually, I burst into tears, all the ones I had held in when the hurricane showed up. Which made my son tear up. Which made him say: “Mommy, I’ll cut it off! I’ll cut it off!” Which made me pull myself together and let go again — and tell him that he was beautiful. Best son ever. And that he would be amazing walking me down the aisle, which of course he was. My fiance called to reassure him: Man, women and weddings. It’s not you. It’s a thing. And I was able to grab hold of myself after talking to a friend, the kind we all need to have, who is calm under pressure and unerring at seeing the heart of a matter. Who reminds you of the blessing of family, even when family doesn’t feel like a blessing. And who points out that a curly ’frohawk-fade with a nice point at the nape would look funky in the pictures. Speaking of the pictures, we let go of the professional photographer tradition, too. We didn’t want to break away from our guests and get all posed up. Because everybody has a camera or smartphone, we thought we would just crowdsource our photos. In retrospect, as we searched for one — just one — well-lit shot of the two of us, featuring the entire top of my husband’s head and me with eyes — two of them, not just hair — we realized that idea wasn’t our best. Which leads me to my next insight. Doing insufficient thought-work is not the same thing as being carefree. Because if you are going to let something go, you must prepare yourself for the results, whatever they will be. Otherwise, you’re just offloading your work and making others responsible for your well-being on something you hadn’t thought through enough to take responsibility for. Otherwise, you’re just e-mailing people frantically and begging, “OMG, tell me you can actually see our faces in the picture!” Yeah, I’ve stopped doing that. Acceptance is its own reward, its own lesson. It carries its own peace. (Okay, so I’m also trying to sweet-talk my husband into getting dressed up again and taking pictures at a photography studio.) Final insight: Our seasons, our celebrations, our rituals, even when they don’t go according to plan, are more than just words and symbols. They remind us that love is ever an action verb. My wedding wasn’t what I’d imagined, for the months when I’d imagined everything — except the limits of my own control. It was better than that. It was perfect. For more by O’Neal, visit wapo.st/lonnae. |