Rocking Chairs

Ceremony has the power to open doors we didn’t know existed. I experienced this on the day Erin and I got married. For me the ceremony unleashed passage into the traditions that have been handed down to me about how to be a family. I know what it feels like to be held in unconditional love because of them.

My family didn’t always know how to relate to this relationship between women, but they came to our wedding with the same spirit of support I’d witnessed at weddings since I was a little kid. Despite knowing some of these people wondered why we “had to get married,” for the most part we experienced a new sense of future vision. Everybody present participated in a new pathway of embracing love between people in the society, especially considering our marriage was not federally recognized at that time. 

Growing up, I couldn’t imagine this being okay. Standing in the sun on that gorgeous August day an aching to find my way home in my own self resolved. Personal, political, holy realms of healing available for everyone at our wedding ceremony, a letting go that there is something wrong with us. An opening to who we are.

Erin and I spent months writing our vows and questioning why and what we were promising, both wanting to keep the traditions that are true for us and leave behind that which does not fit. We vowed to always respect one another, to ask for help when we need it, and to keep meeting each other – because if we aren’t seeing each other change we’re not seeing each other anymore.

As we began imagining our life, somewhere it became encapsulated with the image of rocking chairs. We want to be old and laughing, playing cards, sitting in rocking chairs. I don’t think it matters to Erin where we are. She’s usually content. I am always dreaming, manifesting our beach house along some chilly rocky coast. We are wrapped in warm blankets on a wide porch while the sun sets. My hair is blown from taking a ride in the convertible she thinks is dangerous and unnecessary. It’s for the best she stays home, given she hates loud music and the partial point of joy rides is the sound system. The conversation in the rocking chairs promises to be robust, contentious, and full of laughter.

Erin and I are dedicated to serving one another. There are ways she serves me that I can’t imagine life without. And there are ways in which I would die without her. We have a fire together that is what keeps me warm when life gets cold. I never want to take that for granted but I do. 

Sometimes when she is away I cry because I am afraid she will die. 

She will. I will. 

Everyone we love will.

It’s attachment, a gigantic burden in this life. The marriage is a place where I explore how attachment operates, and where I can release it to be more present with what is actually happening in my life. There are dimensions of attachment that suffocate the spark in the marriage.  She was out recently and I washed my own goddamn underwear and it felt great to take care of myself. The less duty, the more fire.

Breaking down the obligatory parts of whatever has been described as marriage and instead focussing on our unique connection, I get what I treasure with Erin: the spark of absolute freedom to be my whole entire self. Society tells a story about what a loving partnership looks like. And it’s surprising how deep those stories go about how things are supposed to be; equally interesting how fast they burn. The relationship we’ve designed is for us. How many people can say that? It’s work. It’s worth it until it’s not, this wild thing. We don’t know why or how or when it will end. Just that it will whether we like it or not. 

When it gets confusing we look at each other and say, rocking chairs. 

Moment to moment, rocking chairs.