A wedding post

As most of you know, Stephen and I had the pleasure of getting married one month ago. And even though most of my readers will have seen pictures via Facebook, I couldn't resist using this week as an opportunity to celebrate one month of marriage, receiving our wedding pictures, and the best early Christmas gift I could have imagined - my husband.

I think in a lot of ways, one of my favorite parts of the day was how calm I was and how jittery Stephen was. See, I get overexcited easily, and it's always obvious. Stephen is nonchalant, always. The day we got engaged, he kept saying, "I'm excited," without even smiling, while I was a bundle of laughter. On our wedding day, I remember being more excited than I imagined, but also completely calm. That certainty of this is it and this is right kept me quiet and still, while people told me countless times how restless Stephen was. I love that image of him, pacing, lying down on the floor, fidgeting - so excited that he actually couldn't contain himself. And I loved being on the other side of the spectrum - excited to the point of stillness.

Call me crazy, but it was almost as if the first part of our wedding day was experiencing love the way the other person normally experiences it. Giving us both a never before had taste of each other.

We kept it small, with just under 70 guests, and it was absolutely perfect. A smaller guest list allowed Stephen and me to really celebrate with everyone and to enjoy to the fullest this day-of-all-days. It rained. It poured, and we learned that wet wedding days are considered good luck because wet knots are difficult to untie. We embraced the dreariness, knowing our venue offered the perfect indoor option, and that the sky would create a dreamy backdrop for pictures.

We danced (though we both wish we'd danced more), we ate delicious cake, and we had the time of our lives. I've always been a little iffy of brides who claim their wedding day was the best day of their life, because I feel like a life together should be filled with best days rather than limited to just one, but at least for the time being, this was the best day.

I became a wife. I gained a husband. We started a journey that is glorious and fulfilling in so many ways, both expected and unexpected, and I can't wait to see what other best days fill up our marriage.

All photos, except the very first, were taken by Candice Emerson, of C. Hope Photography. 

A love letter to my city

Photograph taken by Branden Lee

Monday morning, I took a train across Sydney to my friend Amy's apartment. I needed to do laundry. I planned on coming home early in the afternoon to clean the apartment and write some thank you notes (they're coming, I promise). Instead, I stayed at Amy's apartment until 5:00PM, because neither Stephen nor I were comfortable with me taking the train.

Because just one train station away from our own home, there was a hostage situation. No one knew what was happening or if anything was happening elsewhere or when everything would be finished. You don't need me to give you the details; I'm sure you've either read about it already, and if you haven't, you can find articles easily.

The thing is, when my friends back in the States started messaging me to see if we were okay, I was a little surprised. This is Australia. This place is safe, right? We didn't just suffer the loss of 132 schoolchildren at the hands of the Taliban; we had one man, a convicted felon out on bail, bite off more than he could chew. It ended tragically, but with an outpouring of love, the likes of which I very rarely witness.

Here's the thing. In the middle of that Monday morning, I was a little bit worried and a little bit flustered, but I was not for one second doubtful that this place is a good one to call home. This city, where I've lived for such a short time, has made for itself a cozy spot in my heart, and days like yesterday remind me that my coming here is not situational.

My desire to live here is not situational or circumstantial or a product of Australia being the perfect vacation spot. This place, its people and its culture, even with all the ways it challenges my worldview and sense of normativity, is good for my soul.

It is like Christmas morning, every morning. You know, that feeling you get when you open the gift you really wanted but were afraid to ask for, and you got it any way, and it just doesn't seem real? For me, that's Sydney. That's Stephen and me making our home in Sydney.

And isn't it stellar when that feeling doesn't disappear in the face of fear or difficulty? Something Sydney has taught me, something Stephen has taught me, is that we know decisions are right not when they feel good for the most fleeting of moments. We know decisions are right when everything else seems to be going wrong, but we don't want to change our minds.

So here's to you, Sydney. For standing strong in the face of terror, for being kind in the face of prejudice, and for being a place I'm proud to stand with.

Life lately + Stuff I've read

 

It's been rather quiet around these parts lately, largely in part to the whole getting married, honeymooning, and flying back to Australia hullabaloo. Stephen and I arrived in Sydney a week ago, and between unpacking, organising our new home, getting back into regular schedules and leaving our laptop charger in the States, a chance to blog simply refused to appear. Naturally, part of me wants to sit and write about these precious, early days of marriage and how we're loving this life together. 

But then I remember how long it's been since I blogged about a book...

My November novel was A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith. It's a title I've heard time and again, and when I saw a copy for $10 in the airport, I thought I'd give it a shot. And may I just say, it was a shot well taken.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn is the most perfect coming-of-age story. It resonates in a way that feels far more real than much of today's popular coming-of-age literature (I think the term "literature" is used loosely), inviting the reader not only to sit in that familiar place of I've been there, but also challenging him or her to experience something new. It's a story of growing up in Brooklyn, becoming the sort of person that can flourish in any circumstance, much like a tree growing up between blocks of sidewalk, and the countless ways in which growing up feels unfinished and uncertain.

This book, it gets me. It is so many things that I have found myself being, from a young girl feeling somehow out of place to a young adult unsure if this is how everyone else feels when they reach certain milestones. Sure, Smith's novel finishes with the protagonist, Francie, turning 16 and getting ready for a date and I'm 24 and newly married, but even in the countless differences, there are gorgeous similarities.

The writing is beautiful, in a way that it so rarely is anymore. What I love most about this story is that it ends totally unfinished. Sure, there's a sense of resolution, but far greater than that sense of resolution is the sense that there is more to come, that as life progresses, so do our stories. We ought to find ourselves within these pages, but we ought not to stay there.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn was the perfect wedding week story. It carried me to fond memories and then released me into a grand future and even though this post is obviously Stuff I've read, it's also everything that has happened lately and all the things that are about to.

I'm home now, and I hope you'll keep letting me share this adventure with you.

Most women had the one thing in common: they had great pain when they gave birth to their children. This should make a great bond that held them all together; it should make them love and protect each other against the man-world. But it was not so. It seemed like their great birth pains shrank their hearts and their souls. They stuck together for only thing: to trample on some other woman...it was the only kind of loyalty they seemed to have.

Francie was ten years old when she first found an outlet in writing. What she wrote was of little conssequence. What was important was that the attempt to write stories kept her straight on dividing the line between truth and fiction. If she had not found this outlet in writing, she might have grown up to be a tremendous liar.

My Dressember adventure is going strong and has been such fun; I'll be writing about it, and other life things, soon. In the meantime, if you'd like to make a donation to the Dressember Foundation, click here.

About Stephen

 

I gravitated towards Stephen the first day I met him. He was tall and soft-spoken and the kind of patient that comes with not really caring what people think. He told me my voice sounded like something you'd hear on television and I felt exotic and exquisite, even though I was a little bit lonely and a little bit homesick.

We became friends quickly. He would send me messages on Facebook to see how I was coping with Australia, with my job, with meeting new people. He introduced me to his friends, took me sightseeing, and showed me cafes that he knew I would frequent. He was kind without being fake, and his willingness to have no other agenda was a much needed breath of fresh air.

But somewhere in the middle of this genuine friendship, something else started to grow. We were both scared, coming from our own particular places of heartbreak and hurt, neither one of us willing to make the first move. And so I, subtle as always, invited him to come with me to a performance of Romeo & Juliet at the Sydney Opera House. He obliged and all of my friends said he liked me and I said I wouldn't get my hopes up, I didn't even know if I liked him, I wasn't sure what was happening.

We both knew it was the start of something.

And not even a month later, he dropped me home from our first date, telling me he wasn't seeing anyone else. Telling me he would rather I didn't see anyone else. And he gave me the sweetest first kiss.

Of course I would fall in love with Stephen. Stephen, who is a foot taller than I, who loves more quietly and delicately than I, who is far more patient and understanding than I. In all our differences, I have learned to be complemented and to complement, my friends telling me earnestly that I seem more myself than ever, that it's less like I've changed and more like I've settled into the person I was meant to be.

He proposed just after arriving in America, with a journal filled with letters and my favorite flowers and my best friend waiting to celebrate with us.

It's the start of the best something yet.

The slow and steady

This past month and a half has been one of waiting. It's been the rumble of thunderstorms, the quiet of novels, the basking in always having enough time for one more episode of Law and Order. It's been the working towards new career paths and the pursuit of healthy friendships and the reunion of family.

But it's also been the teen angst of a long-distance relationship, Stephen staying behind in Australia while I flew to Georgia. I have become more thankful than ever for technology and mail, but I am also certain that I will never again take for granted the luxury of being together. There have been days of overwhelming frustration, of impatience that will not cease. And there have been days of gratefulness, of eagerness for our upcoming reunion, of seeing how beneficial separation can be for the heart.

I've been ready to see Stephen since I glanced back from the departure gate in Australia, and while some might say my expectations are too high, I know they're just right.

Tonight, I will see him, face-to-face, at baggage claim. And the waiting will be over and the next adventure will begin.

A belated Mother's Day

 

My mom has taught me a lot. 

She taught me how to do my laundry and change my sheets. She taught me how to mow grass (or was that Dad?). She taught me how to bake cookies and knead dough and wash dishes. She taught me how to get the temperature of my shower just right.

She taught me that books are better than television or movies, but that it's okay if you like both. She taught me to be diligent with my passions, and to never assume that loving something or someone will make things come more easily. She taught me to have high standards for everything in my life and to never feel guilty for expecting of people what they're capable of giving. She taught me to cut a little slack sometimes, because no one is perfect. She taught me to be respectful and reasonable, but to never discount the worth of drama or hyperbole when you're telling stories. She taught me that romance is wonderful, but it doesn't take away from your worth as a single person. She taught me that a good work ethic is important, but that a job should never compromise your morals or well-being.

She taught me that independence and strength are good things, beautiful things, necessary things, but that they should never come at the expense of other people. She taught me that being remarkable has a lot to do with how often your existence is worthy of recognition and very little to do with how often you are actually recognized.

She taught me that moving across the world takes courage and perseverance, and she taught me that I could do it. 

She taught me that all these things, and so many more, are better taught with actions than words, and in doing so, she taught me how to be effectively quiet.

My mom taught me how to use my voice.

Happy Mother's Day, Mama. You are beautiful and wonderful, and I am so privileged to have a mother like you - someone to teach me everything and still leave room for me to learn on my own.