~epilogue: life sans accordion~

November 9th, 2008

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I’m not sure how to live now, without an accordion soundtrack.
~ Michelle Plochere, treasured friend, de facto maid of honor, dual coast wedding guest

In our first week back in Neuchâtel I am struck by two things: I’m glad to be back, and I’m glad to be married. In the case of the latter anyway I’m not surprised, but glad all the same–the set up for a kind of wedding post-partum is fairly intense. The thing is behind you–all the wedding planning that absolutely takes over even the most wary person’s life–but before that wondering who (or in my case “if”) and before that dating and dating (or in my case relationshipping and relationshipping)–all of this is behind you.
In a sense ones whole adult life has lead to this choice, and even more weirdly, this one day, or I should say socially it is perceived as such. That is a doozy, even if that day is nine days filled with accordion.

My reasons for getting married were not practical. In the case of love–and I spose in the case of anything I’ve really cared about–the romantic wins out over the pragmatist and this is good. All strategies involving the weighing of conceptual Pros and Cons or the making 5 year plans and the like, meant nothing. Thinking doesn’t work when what you need to do is feel.

This is likely *the* lesson I learned from Iline (my ex-therapist who later became my dear friend and died last year, for those of you just tuning in), who would have loved to see her efforts and love come to this, I am sure. The conversation of marriage began some years ago, and somehow, right now in this adventure, it feels right. That was it. (That, and of course having the arbitrary “right” to make it legal. How preposterous for anyone to assume the right to tell anyone else who they can marry. How preposterous to give a fig. It is a civil issue! It does take some wind out the “yay! married!” sails to have Prop 8 in the immediate wake…U.S. out of our love lives! and uteri, while we are at it! Pro Choice and Pro Love, baby!)

Swiss economic humor: Banks made of chocolate proclaiming it the only “known value”.

We use the suitcases to transport groceries from the far away shop.

There is a song written by Bob Dylan for Nico’s Chelsea Girl album called I’ll Keep it with Mine. This week I was chopping eggplant in a lovely autumn twilight and this song resonated with what was on my mind about love and my relationship to it, so at the risk of sounding very teen dear diary, the lyrics: How long, Babe, can you search for what’s not lost? Everybody will help you, some people are very kind. But if I can save you any time, come on, give it to me, I’ll keep it with mine.

The last time I felt love so intense and jubilant as my wedding day was at the MacDowell Colony, when I read my first writing in front of my peers, my friends there. I had never read in public, never had the audacity to proclaim myself a writer before. In what I read I described the very thing that generally prevents me from doing things like that–the loss of the spark, self-faith, the journey from fiery exhibitionist to someone who people don’t actually know, say, makes stuff: films, photographs, word clusters–and back again. I didn’t cry then, but only by an unparalleled act of will.

the brioche stands alone.

Over our nine days I was so moved by the outpouring of love from our friends and family, it was tremendous. I also became aware of a learned habit of mine of shutting down to love, based on a not very complicated principal: if you don’t need people they stand less chance of disappointing/hurting you. It really hurt my heart to see this habitual response even in glimpses in the face of all that love.

While it’s true I didn’t want to have a ceremony determined by shoulds and expectations (if ever there was a loaded event, it’s this one), and I also thought eloping was rather a romantic idea, I think not wanting to invite people to the wedding itself was also about protecting myself from potential disappointment, and from being in the spotlight. What a sad way to live! Who is that woman?

Inviting Alfonso into my life was a movement away from this shut down–not just in ‘letting love in’ as the mantis would have it–but in being around a person who unabashedly revels in love like a hound dog. This wasn’t an accident on my part. I think one is profoundly affected by the company one keeps and I want maximum Joie de Vivre in my life, even as it opens me up to the opposite in equal parts. Consider it a calculated risk.

Here is what they don’t tell you about marriage, about weddings:

1. Even though I hesitate to say so, it is a rite of passage. People treat you differently (no matter if you feel this is rational, it is fact. people will say to you, “welcome to the club” and mean it. after the first time you will learn to conceal your horror). You yourself will likely feel differently about your relationship in subtle and not so subtle ways. For me having the question (that I spose plagues many adult relationships of a certain duration) “are we going to part, or…?” answered definitively is a great thing. Having often a toe (or whole limbs) out the proverbial door for such a long time was totally exhausting. I thought the issue was Me vs We. I’ve since begun to see the ways in which there is no real difference.

2. The decision to get married (or any big move toward) puts all kinds of things in motion you would not expect. As a risk-taker in other areas of my life I would have thought I would remember this, but I didn’t: when you choose to risk, providence follows. Like the idea of opening your hand to let something in, the same thing goes for your heart. There is a lot of room in there, it turns out. It is absolutely the scariest thing I can think of, to immerse yourself, make yourself vulnerable, intentionally. The rewards for the brave/foolish are mind-boggling and incredible.

3. The absence of people in your life–either through death or estrangement–will bother in newly palpable ways. In spite of how incredible all the love swirling around you feels and how much you may want to share this with the long-lost, this may not be the time. Keep those people in your minds-eye, in your heart, and carry on with the (presumably less complicated) love you have right now.

4. People you know well will surprise and sometimes hurt you with their boundaries, limits, or expectations in regard to your wedding or marriage. You are asking of them, sometimes a lot, and they are doing the best that they can. Try to keep the broad view (or you will lose twelve pounds without trying and develop clinical insomnia that causes you to occasionally write regrettably long emails on topics best forgotten, at least for the moment).

5. You will tire of discussing the idea of “tradition” or things that one “must” have/do in weddings and thus surprise yourself with a willingness to acquiesce to please people you love. Know what is important to you and do not budge. No Louie Louie cover bands at your reception, for example.

6. You will be ready for your smallest actions and decisions to not feel personal to people you love long before it actually happens. When it does, you will miss–just a little bit–being in the eye of the storm.

7. In the end everything small vanishes. It has no currency in the buoyant, miraculous wave of love of your friends and family. Your face will ache from smiling. Your heart will feel like bursting, many times over. Nothing can actually prepare you for this, and nothing can take it from you (not even the Swiss*).

My man made this and sent it to me while I was alone in New York. On the front it says “Kisses from Geneva”. The desperate search for and application of my lipstick is something I’d give a lot to have witnessed.

Kisses from Neuchatel

*it occurs to me that as this is a public bit of writing however buried, though I know the handful of you who read regularly know me and thus know I make cheap shots like this in jest in–in this case to distract from my romantic sentimentality revealing all its earnest petticoats–that in fact I have nothing against “The Swiss” and of course find the very notion of “The Swiss” silly–I ought to go on record here as well: Kimmi + Swiss= TLF!
–Ed.