Like I said, I chose to be joyful.

On Saturday, two of my friends got married. It was a lovely wedding–sweet, simple, understated. I got to see good friends and family and dance these weak knees into lovely oblivion. And, if you’re wondering…

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Overall, I was happy. Inside this mind and heart, however, was a different, rather interesting scene. See, the thing is…back in the day, years and years ago (11 years, I think), I was massively infatuated with the groom. I mean, it was…it was acute. I was done the moment I met him. Let’s move on. Obviously, nothing became of it. My crushdom lasted for a good, long while, and then it departed, as all crushes do, to that place of resignation and acceptance of reality.

To see him marry his love wasn’t easy. To see how he had matured, to see the man he had become, to see him–quite difficult. Back then, all those years ago, I had imagined a similar day with him as a groom but with a different bride. (Guess who?) Nevertheless, I chose to be joyful, remember? So when the past would come creeping and knocking on my heart, I immediately detached myself. I focused on my yummy chicken dinner, my mom’s amazing performance on the dance floor, taking photos of my girls and the venue. I refused to allow the past to trump or to triumph. Did I succeed at being joyful the entire evening? I’ll say this. My intent was to go the whole evening avoiding the groom. Honestly. I didn’t even want to congratulate him. I wanted to hug and congratulate the bride and just be done with it. But that didn’t happen. The ole conscience wouldn’t allow it. I hugged and kissed her, and then, with a deep breath, I approached him and congratulated him. He kissed me on the cheek and thanked me for coming. I almost shed tears. Almost. But it was the past joining hands with the present–what else could I do but almost shed tears? Yet, I didn’t. I smiled and resumed my dancing.

All that said, all those moments aside, arming myself with joy helped. Going in with the self promise of having a good time and detaching myself from melancholy and memory helped. A glass of Verdi Spumante would have helped, too, but water was just fine. My point is that although my feelings for this individual had long dissipated and departed, I’m only human. It was important to walk through those doors with a determination to just enjoy myself. And that, I did.

It was a beautiful day.

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