There wasn’t time to fully dry my hair. Not that I would have wanted to anyways since it measured approximately 100 degrees inside the dressing room where my sisters, mother, and I were getting ready, and I was already sweating in my black and white jaquard-patterned dress.
The rehearsal started at 5:00, and it was 4:42.
But a half hour later, when Jon and I stood before my pastor, encircled by 20 of our closest friends and our parents, the surrealism that had kept me floating quickly morphed into a wide-eyed trembling panic. And as we practiced reciting the vows that we had written, I was forced to remember that I actually had a role to play in this drama that performed tomorrow. A speaking role, center stage.
Stand with your shoulders back. Speak louder. The ones who laugh during the rehearsal bawl during the ceremony.
Pearls of advice or caution. More things to think about as we stood there on the precipice in the eleventh hour, reciting our vows that today meant nothing and tomorrow would mean the world.
“I’m nervous,” Jon said to me in the car on the way to the dinner. He sounded surprised at himself. “Are you?”
“Yes,” I responded without thinking––without needing to think. “Is that bad?”
“What?” I said.