We got engaged a year ago yesterday. I wrote about this very obliquely last year and a little more publicly in June but still managed to keep the whole thing a bit vague.
Before spring 2010, I did not, even super secretly, want to get married. Nick and I had been together forever, we were doing great!, but I didn't get the point.
I went to beautiful weddings of friends and family members and thought, "nope, not for me." I never dreamed of my own wedding as a kid, I dreamed of finding someone who liked me enough to stick around. (That should not be read as precocious anti-establishment leanings so much as early onset self-loathing).
My grandmother says that one day she woke up and didn't feel like a cigarette, and never smoked again. I was always suspicious of this anecdote, thinking it an endearing relic of an era when vice and vulnerability were unseemly.
But then, hand to God, one day I woke up and wanted to get married. The day before, zilch, and yet there I was.
I told Nick about this new development and he was like "duh, weirdo" and we decided we'd do it next year (2011) and that he wanted to propose all dude-like. On November 13th, he surprised me with a ring and then ten months later I was signing the papers with my bike helmet fastened crooked atop my updo.
A fast year. A good one.