During practice, I managed to get through my wedding speech three times without my voice cracking. But, until the actual ceremony, I’d never cried at the beginning. In the middle of the second paragraph, I couldn’t speak. It’s so rare to be able to participate in moments of pure emotion. At the foot of a grand staircase, in the middle of a bookstore, I married two of my favorite women. I cried my way through the second paragraph. I cried during their vows. It was one of the most authentic experiences of my life. Like childbirth. That analogy sat in my head as I walked down the staircase with my son, the ring bearer. It lived there as I danced with him afterward at the dance party. We rawred to Lady Gaga, and spun to Dancing Queen, and the flowered cakes gave us rushes, and the joy overflowed. Even Journey didn’t suck.
I’m still high. Still sore at heart and heel. Why is it that this must be warred for: this love, this communion? It’s human. Ancient and inalienable, surely. How we come together. How we celebrate. How we foster commitment as a community. These are lizard brain instincts. Simple. Love is simple.