Wedding Feet

I have been to my fair share of weddings. Big weddings, little weddings, church weddings… I’ve seen it all. At each of these weddings, there is one moment that I always find most memorable: the bride walking down the aisle. In that instant, there are always a million thoughts running through my mind. Thoughts about the dress she is wearing, the smile on her face, the pacing, the shoes, the hairstyle, etc. In that moment, I have a million thoughts about a million things. And I’m just a spectator.

So if I’m thinking a million thoughts, that bride must be thinking a million and one.

I’ve always wondered what it is like to be a bride in that moment. When you begin walking down the aisle and everyone stands up and looks at you. As if it’s not enough pressure that you are taking your last march as a single woman. And that at the end of that aisle stands a man, one man that you are planning to commit yourself to, forever. And if you trip on the heel of those expensive white satin shoes, you will be the laughingstock of your own wedding.

So what is that bride thinking? Is she thinking a lot of things, or just one? Are there a million thoughts ringing in her head, or one salient thought screeching loudly above all the others? And if so, what is that thought?

In less than one year’s time, I will be that bride, walking down that aisle. Everyone will be looking at me, and thinking a million thoughts. And at least one person will be as insane as me, and that person will be wondering: what is that bride thinking?

I will be thinking about my feet.

Not about my soon-to-be husband, or my Cinderella gown, or all of my on-looking family and friends; no. I will be thinking about my feet. My feet, which have caused me a wide array of embarrassment over the years, in trips and falls, spills and tumbles, and horrors too horrific to pen down.

I will be thinking about my feet, because in that moment, my feet must act as the strongest part of my body. My feet must get me down that aisle. Even when my brain goes renegade and decides that we should turn around, steal a pair of flats from the nearest cousin, and run like the wind… my feet must trudge on. Even when my arms give up, growing limp under the weight of the massive bouquet… my feet must trudge on. And even when my heart grows weak, beating too fast, erratically, and finally ceasing to beat at all, as I realize that never again will my heart be fully functional alone… even then, my feet must trudge on.

So in case you happen to attend my wedding, and begin to wonder “what is that bride thinking?” rest assured that I am thinking of my feet. Because in that moment, when there are a million things that I could be thinking of, worrying about, and having doubts over, all I will want to do is get to him.

Come on feet, just get me there.