I could ramble endlessly about my wedding, which finally took place this past weekend. But in the spirit of brevity, I’ll cut straight to the point: having a somewhat traditional wedding was, for me, like visiting the Eiffel Tower.
Hear me out.
Last summer, I visited the famed Parisian landmark with low expectations. I was ready to dismiss it as an overhyped tourist trap but quickly found myself enchanted. At first, the approach was uninspiring, and climbing the stairs to the second platform triggered ten minutes of vertigo so intense I was sure I’d pass out. But then, standing there, gazing out at the stunning panorama, I suddenly saw it for what it truly was: a masterpiece of engineering and a celebration of the very best of Western civilization.
In much the same way, as my wedding day approached and my life became consumed with preparations, I started to doubt whether the event could possibly justify all the time, effort, and money invested by myself, Mr. P, and our families. I recalled a coworker’s advice: “I wish I’d eloped instead. Sure, the wedding was nice, and we have the pictures, but we could’ve put that money toward a house.” Her words echoed in my mind as Friday’s festivities began, even as I enjoyed the time with family and friends. I couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion that I’d gathered everyone out of obligation—because tradition demanded a ceremony and reception, and society expects it.
Then came Saturday afternoon. As the organ swelled and my father walked me down the flower-strewn church aisle, I felt the same rush I’d had on the Eiffel Tower. A wave of vertigo, the simultaneous urge to cry and faint, and a deep desire to cling to Mr. P and never let go. The pastor’s voice—familiar to me since childhood—rose above it all, steady and grounding. In that moment, as we exchanged vows surrounded by family and friends, it became clear: this was the best day of my life.
Yes, the cake will be eaten, the flowers will fade, and the dress will be carefully packed away. But the memory of that moment in the church—of pledging my love and life to Mr. P, of feeling bound to him in the most profound way—will endure. The joy of knowing we’d made our families proud, the sheer beauty of the day, and the unshakable confidence that I’d never looked better in my life—these things made every second of planning worthwhile.
Even the updo was worth it. (Photo below, courtesy of one of my wonderfully attentive bridesmaids. In the name of humility, I’ve chosen to share the least glamorous shot of the day.)
