Somehow, between a Monday and a Friday, I got engaged. A wholesome three and half years of dating preceded the proposal; I suppose by most standards the time was ripe and I did feel it looming, but nevertheless, it knocked me out. I was unsettled for a week. A week! I sat down to my keyboard many times since it happened and fingers froze, but now that some time has passed, my feelings are organized and in proper place, faculties restored. So here I am, finally.
Fresh out of college, many of my girlfriends got engaged. I wasn’t engaged and therefore way behind, but it was hard for me to ignore that most 22 year-old boys had yet to master things like Hamburger Helper or a decent kiss. They seemed either completely lost or far too ready for marriage, much like babies desperately reaching at a mug of coffee. I was equally delusional, considering marriage a mandatory next step: elementary school, high school, college, marriage/Real World. (This Real World situation was most mysterious at the time. I only knew it involved a job and paying my own rent.) I wanted to get engaged along with my friends, but I couldn’t settle on a fellow and felt ill equipped to make this life decision when I wasn’t even sure what Real World entailed.
After moving to Los Angeles, Hollywood madness and creative growth replaced thoughts of marriage. My love affair with Los Angeles warrants its own post, or perhaps a series—but for now, it suffices to say that the city is magical chaos. Whatever your interests, Los Angeles pulls them to the surface like cream and inspires you with the freedom to pursue them. So, my steamy affairs with hip hop dancing and ballet and literature and poetry and writing kept me infatuated and happy. I finally started becoming who I really am, and only then did I meet my mate.
And I had a realization:
Most couples have the wisdom to marry for good reason: age, financial stability, good looks, God, procreating, social mores—all of which I dismiss. I realized that I am an old school romantic. In matters of marriage, I vote romance. I vote for your Edward Rochester/Edward Cullen/Fitzwilliam Darcy/Clark Kent who sweeps you off your feet and gladly walks through the fire to take a bullet for you. With such a tall order, odds are slim that this extraordinary person enters your life in accordance with your planned timeline and checklist of spousal criteria. If no one has blown you away yet, that’s ok. Romance is not scheduled, so why the pressure? It is 2013. Blast Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding Out For a Hero,“ drowning out the lame single stigma. Unromantic marriages are a travesty. Men need time to reach hero status and so do women.
I think this is why Kevin’s proposal knocked me out. We both held out for each other. I am his hero and he is mine. Neither of us have been married or engaged, and it was well worth the wait. Expect a post divulging all details next.
amble & stray 