I got married two weeks ago. The most striking moment was when we had the private dance, which was at the very end, when Sarah and I had a few minutes to dance alone. Our guests had exited the venue and were lined up, sparklers in hand, ready to send us off.
For four minutes and sixteen seconds of Kacey Musgraves’ “Love Is a Wild Thing,” we swayed together and reveled. It felt psychedelic. Not like a hallucination. It was as if I was sailing through another plane of existence. It felt both infinite and fleeting, as if I was given a peek into a reality that we don’t usually get to see. “See” is a weird word for this, because whatever I was experiencing wasn’t visual, but it’s a word that feels relatable for an experience that wasn’t. What was clear was that this was the most meaningful experience of my life to date.
Most of the time when we’re in the moment, we don’t recognize it. That’s basically what “being in the moment” means. I try to appreciate the present moment all the time, but trying to make yourself feel gratitude is like trying to push a rope. It doesn’t come by way of wanting or forcing it. What was strange about this private dance was how I was both in and outside of the moment at the same time. As if during this particular experience, God and the universe said, let’s give him the chance to feel everything at once.
As Sarah and I danced, we would take turns weeping. It was like a game of tag where we passed the entirety of the universe’s beauty and wonder back and forth, holding and appreciating it all. It felt transcendent and timeless. For most things in life, I worry that I will lose the details or the visceral nature of certain memories and moments. My mom passed 15 years ago, and it bugs me that my memories of her are not as vivid as I would like.
But not with this moment. I’m confident that I can replay this in my head for eternity, getting every shape and contour correct. Knowing it was a moment in time but not feeling any sense of loss or limitations in how ephemeral it was. Much of my worldview is that life is about effort; it is good and noble for us to work, put in the time, and make something of what our life gives us on this rock hurtling through space. As we danced, that feeling didn’t exist to me. Very few times in my life do I actually feel like everything is coming up roses; this was one of them.
As much as I believe we need more rituals and seats of meaning in our lives, I always feel resistance to moments that are supposed to be important. Just like gratitude, it feels like something you can’t force. But I am eternally grateful that I was given this moment, and I will never take it for granted.
Thanks to readers of early drafts: Matthew Beebe, Dominik Gmeiner, Rik Van den Berge