What if my wedding isn't pretty?
The latest first-person essay to make the Internet rounds is really striking a chord with me. In "Instagram's Envy Effect," Shauna Niequist writes about the pressure that Instagram and Pinterest put on us to lead beautiful, well-lit lives (as she puts it, "It only takes one friend at the Eiffel Tower to make you feel like a loser."). On some level, we all know that everyone's photo streams are curated--you'll only see the prettiest baked goods, unless a mishap is epic...like the time I set my apple crisp on fire. And your favorite blogger's artfully empty shelves? There's a distinct possibility that she has a closet brimming with tons of random shit that could crush you, avalanche-style. Everyone has dirty laundry somewhere (literally--and if they're anything like me, they probably pluck things out of it, give em a whiff, and wear again). And stop salivating with jealousy and shame: No one is eating gorgeous drool-worthy eggs Benedict every single morning. (If by chance someone is, can they please send me one? I can't stomach another morning of this goopy, gloppy oatmeal.)
The point is, most of us Instagrammers only capture the loveliest moments. There's--of course--a lot you don't see.
And these days, I'm finding it really useful to remind myself that the same thing applies to weddings. Wedding blogs showcase that moment when the couple sees each other for the first time, or when they're rocking out to a delightful bluegrass band below strand lights. Every time I visit Pinterest, Wedding Chicks, Green Wedding Shoes, or A Practical Wedding, I find myself having a conniption: a genius escort card display? Letterpress place cards? Even when I compare our shindig to a self-described "low-key" soiree, I worry that we won't measure up.
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| Worst-case scenario: David Tutera gets wind of one of my DIY projects and side-eyes it like, "Oh honey, no." |
But whenever I think about Pinterest-perfect weddings, I try to remember this: you don't see a bridesmaid scowling when she burns herself with a curling iron, a creepy uncle getting tipsy and gyrating on the dance floor, or the lush bouquet drooping at the end of the night. And you definitely don't see the DIY meltdowns when the crafter/bride-to-be wants to slap someone with her hot glue gun.
This is good to remember because wedding panic has started to seep in. Not panic about committing to Jason--he's the best, for a zillion reasons--but about the crushing pressure of wanting to ensure that my guests have The Best Time Ever.
When I am behaving like a rational person, I know that my friends and family won't leave our celebration thinking, "You know what really ruined this day for me? Those chevron favor bags. I'm just over it." No. And not only will they not be offended by my choice of cake plate--they won't even notice said plate, because they'll be too busy scarfing dessert. (Free pie. Free. Pie.) They will probably lick their fingers, double first two different flavors, and ask to take home the leftovers, and that is why I love them.
Of course I'm Pinning my little fingers off. I love flowers and garlands and decor and can't wait to create a beautiful day. But I'm trying to focus on the big-picture: how to create an ambiance that is welcoming and comforting and fun (and full of goats, duh). But here's the thing: Jason and I are welcoming and comforting and fun--ok, not full of goats, but definitely goat enthusiasts! And we'll bring that sense of playfulness--and above all, giddiness to be together--to any celebration we host. (But real talk? I'm still hoping that my crafts turn out to be lovely.)
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