I’ve been busy with getting the wedding invites made and addressed. I think it is taking me longer than the average do-it-yourself-bride because I am struggling, once again, with the idea that they aren’t good enough. I’ve put so much effort into each individual invitation and I’m worried they aren’t good enough. When in all actuality, they’re probably fine.
I’ve been job hunting every day, and had one interview. She said if I didn’t hear anything by mid-week, it means I’ll probably be getting a letter saying they found someone else. It’s Thursday. And maybe she could feel my heart wasn’t in it…that I was genuinely interested, but my heart wasn’t there. Because it wasn’t. My heart is on the wedding and trying most fervently to get a position within a library. ANY LIBRARY will do, I’m not picky. But come on people.
All this cycling and self-loathing, stressing out and working hard on little things has caused me to have migraines nearly every day this week. From allergies or slumped and hunched over these invites, I’m not sure of the exact cause I just know they’re crippling. I had one the other night with seizure-like shakes and my body locked up like someone was sitting on me. I’ve been told this is probably not from anxiety, but rather a complex migraine. Either way, it isn’t good.
So now here we are today, overly hydrated, somewhat depressed about a job, and stressing over the wedding now more than ever. I just spent the better part of two hours writing a letter to the President. Telling him about us, our story…Ryan and I. Telling him how I feel and how he should keep a look out for the actual invitation. Ha. Like the actual President will really have time to really read a letter from some no one girl in some no place town. I probably won’t get a response. Let alone him coming to the event. So why did I put so much into it when I should be working on something else?!?! Why am I still stalling and blogging instead of inviting?!?! Because.
Because I am tired. I’ve done over 50 invitations and addressed 40 of them, run out of invites and now have to make about 20 more. Then address those. And I’m worried people will look at them and laugh or make a joke. When I tried so hard on them. It’s obvious they weren’t professionally done. There’s slanted cuts and crooked lines. But they look good, I guess, I mean, I didn’t just throw them together willy nilly. I mean, it takes me about twenty minutes to get them assembled and about another fifteen to get the envelopes addressed with good handwriting and mild embellishment.
Why do I care what people think so much? It’s not their wedding, it’s my day with the love of my life, sharing it with these people. They should feel lucky that they got invited, and yet, I am over-the-top anxious they’re laughing behind my back. Because I did the invites myself. I am a fool of a Took.
At the end of the day the invitations don’t mean as much as the fact I get to marry Ryan. That feeling, that electricity in my marrow feeling like my soul is humming, I cannot get over. I am so excited and so happy he chose me. That’s the best part, not the crooked invites or my helpless and messy hair, not the job hunting…I’ll be job hunting for the next decade if we move as much as we do. I may as well just work at Walmart. But at the end of it all, every day, the mess the stress the second guessing, I get Ryan. And my soul, the fiber of my being, the center of my heart, is finally at peace and content with life, with where I am. Finally. After all those years searching, existentially, for the meaning, the greater thing…I’ve found it. In Ryan. And I am happy.
So I apologize if your invite is a little off center, or smudgy. I am deeply sorry if it’s not fancy enough. But if it matters that much to you, then please. Come to the wedding and see that there is something so much more and powerful than a flipping piece of paper. In Ryan’s heart and mine. And that, is better than the summer breeze outside. Better than ice cream. Better than any letter I could ever write to the President. The love we have is better than any job or place we move. It’s my comfort and my greatest achievement. I cannot put it on a resume, but loving Ryan, will be my life’s best and most honest work.