Sorry I've been away from blogging for a few days, but I've gotten caught up in a surprising amount of end of the semester activity. Aside from the usual rush of grading and meeting with students, my dear friend Bootsie was in town which was quickly followed by a visit from my mother. Their visits were wonderful especially because I got to celebrate a little bit of news with them - I got engaged.
Now hold your horses with comments full of glee and joy. It's not that I'm not absolutely overjoyed and filled with glee myself over the promise that the kindest and sweetest man I've ever met wants to marry little ol' me, but I'm just bashful in what follows in the sharing of such news. Let me explain.
The man took me on my very first camping trip a few weeks ago. One of my best friends, Ruby, and one of his as well as their equally as loved significant others joined us on this city girl's first experience sleeping in the great outdoors. And it was wonderful. The fire. The burnt popcorn. Watching a boy scout troop who set up camp near by. Relishing in how dark and quiet it got to be at night. Taking a nap with Ruby, but really listening to a light rain tap against the tent. Being in my bf's element and loving how happy it made him. All that would have made for an amazing weekend, but it was also on this trip in which he decided to ask me to marry him.
After hiking up a mountain (I'm pretty sure this was a test and it seems as if I passed even though halfway up I had to hand him my pack to carry) and snacking on the sweetest of tangelos and the most refreshing gulps of water from an actual canteen, my bf asked if anyone wanted to climb the little fire tower/observatory to look at the view from an even higher point. Since all were in the know, no one seemed interested other than me.
And so that's where he asked. Actually, that's where I answered (and started to cry) before he got the words out. It was so beautiful and special and when we looked down at our friends and he yelled down my answer - they blew party horns that were carried in a backpack all the way up the mountain, hidden under granola bars, hidden from me.
So this leads me to why I am bashful in all of this. I love my story. I love this man. But all that is to follow makes me uncomfortable. I'm at ease with him and in marrying him, but this thing, this wedding thing with all its details and planning feels like a monster. How do I plan a wedding that is within our very modest budget that feels like its about us? How do I also do this thing without making it all about ME, the monster bride, and not also about all the people that we love and love us? Despite how it may otherwise appear on a blog in which I tend to ramble about myself more than my fellow Hiving Outers, I am not a girl who handles the generosity of the spotlight well. I prefer the humbling space of the background, the one who gives attention and not gets it.
So this is the state I'm in - engaged and overwhelmed with the love and attention that comes with it. I know I'm not the only shy girl out there who's gotten married so if you've got any advice on how to embrace center stage - I'd love to hear that. And thanks for reading my extra-long, long overdue announcement too! (And I feel so lucky that I kept my complaining about that killer hike to a minimum...)
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