I wrote this blog over a week ago but have just now gotten around to posting it, so please forgive the timeframe blunders :)
I’m sitting in front of my computer, twenty-five days until D-Day, sipping coffee and thanking the heavens it’s Friday. My heart is ripping at the seams trying to get me to do anything other than what I’m doing, screaming that there must be something more productive that I could be doing. Unfortunately there isn’t. This is all there is, right in this moment, that matters. I haven’t written a blog post in a little while and I want to keep it updated and I want to document these seconds because chances are, I will never go through them again. They’re worrisome and frustrating along with excitement and elation. They are also fleeting, one leaving only to have another rush to take its place. I am a mess.
My life for the next twenty-five days (and the last few) has been filled with finding things to sell at our local flea market, making chap sticks, fulfilling thirty-day physical challenges and panicking that I’m not doing enough or missing something. I’ve picked up doing some side help for a little cash and have ensured that reserved plans have remained at a minimum. I want to go to Vegas with a clear to-do list and be able to do whatever we want without restriction. The only plans we have are 1) to get married (obviously) and 2) I have made dinner reservations the first night we are there to eat at Gordon Ramsey’s restaurant. I am refusing to Google all the things you can do in Vegas because I would rather be surprised when I get there than to have the internet spoil it all for me! (Which btw it is kind of killing me because I am a planner by nature—Which means I’m fighting freaking nature. Ugh)
I’m going to tell you all a secret (which by means of posting it online no longer makes it a secret, but we’ll just pretend). I’m pretty terrified right now and you’ll never guess why…
Nope, it’s not getting married.
No, it’s not the trip because we’re driving not flying.
Naw, it’s not the money or my home I’m worried about.
Give up?
It’s changing my freaking name.
I know, most people are excited for this. They doodle it on their books and practice saying it over and over again. And I know I don’t have to change it, my soon-to-be husband has told me as much, but I’m going to. I think it represents something deeper than what it’s become in this day and age. I believe he deserves to have me called by his family name, proof that I’ve chosen him and that his lineage could move forward. He has proven his worth to own my name. [And no, I don’t care to hear your pleas of equality. I’m going to keep my opinions on it to myself just as I expect you to do. Thank you very much.] It still scares me a little to lose that piece of my identity and assume a new one. I know it’s not changing who I am, but I wish you could see that it will. I fully expect it to. It’s going to test my fear of letting go and my fears are one of the things I hold closely. It’s going to challenge my perception of what I believe matters and how I overcome things (and names) dictating what I believe.
I have always held my father in very high regards. Often I will chose to do (or not to do) something because of how I think he would feel about it. I carry his name and the last thing I would ever want to do is tarnish it.
See the key words there? I carry his name. Without that burden/motivator would I choose differently? I don’t know because I’ve never been presented with it before. Well, until now. The question has never even come to mind because I wasn’t sure I would want to ever be married.
Now, none of this is to say that I am not ready to be married. That I do not want to be married. Nor that we are not destined to be together. Because honestly, he’s my best friend, my go to, my biggest supporter and hardest critic. He’s everything that I look for in a person and someone I trust beyond measure. He matters to me as much as I matter to myself. I hold his happiness in the same regard I hold my own. You can ask anyone when I tell you, we are meant to be together in all lifetimes. I have never doubted that we were meant for each other. All of this doesn’t mean that I cannot hold tiny pockets of fear and concern. They are something that my mind and heart does to myself. They are remnants of my past and human nature that are not necessarily the fault of anyone but myself. Changing my name just happens to be one of them.
At the end of this month I will be in Vegas with my best friend, exploring the city to all its limits. At the end of this month I can finally stop hearing the question, ‘Oh, when are you guys getting married’. At the end of this month I will be a freaking ray of sunshine. All because, finally, at the end of this month my last name will start with a B instead of a G and we will face any of the change that’s to come with it, together, the way it’s meant to be.
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