Happily Ever After Is NOT Happy Each Day After

The thick afternoon fog on Treasure Island Beach was as peculiar as the reason I found myself standing there last Saturday. Two dear friends of ours were celebrating their twentieth wedding anniversary by hosting a ceremony to renew their vows.

I have to say, I didn’t get it.

Driving to the beach, in fact, I poo-poo’d the ceremony as little more than an excuse for a group of 40-somethings to spend some time partying together. Joking, I warned my wife, “Don’t get any ideas – we’re NOT doing this!”

Just before the festivities began, at five o’clock, the fog lifted, both on the beach and in my stream of consciousness, as the procession of participants began. As we surrounded a make-shift stage (a heart-shaped design created by our children on the sand), I listened as topics were aired that might be ignored on a traditional wedding day.

Participants and the family spoke about the imperfections of adult life, how ‘have-to’s’ often trump ‘want-to’s’, about the sadness of having lost people along the way, and the hard lessons couples might only learn through shared struggle.

The ceremony was real – speaking directly to many of us that, in hindsight, would admit to having no idea what married life would bring as we entered into its responsibilities nearly two decades ago.

While others spoke, I remained silent. I did not look up much during the brief ceremony. I was lost in my own mind – a place filled with the accumulated memories created by my five children and twenty years of my own marriage. I was more numb than joyous and, shamefully, filled with more regret than energy to rejoice.

Subconsciously I posed the question, “Would I do it all over again?”

The answer, of course, is YES!

I could not imagine a life filled with less than what I have. I may not be the most outwardly happy dad each day, but I love my wife and kids indescribably.

It has not been easy. And, while I’d absolutely do it all again, I can’t help but pause to ponder some personal lows we’ve experienced along the way. So much of the regret I feel is a byproduct of those missteps, like:

• I was never happy that my wife was pregnant – never. I was too terrified about my ability to fulfill the needs of a growing household with every single one of my wife’s pregnancies. “Honey, I’m pregnant,” was met with the my silent treatment, and a rush to find a bigger house, vehicle, and income stream.
• During my kids’ infancy, I was a zombie. Sure, I helped with the crying babies and growing school-agers, but I was completely checked out emotionally. My wife traveled for a week at one point and, upon her return, I skipped the normal pleasantries and greeted her by saying, “It will be so nice to have another set of hands on deck.”
• As I stood kicking the sand, listening to renewal of my friends’ wedding vows, I thought about having spent more time over the past week yelling at my fifteen-year-old than playing ball, reading, or going to the park with any one my other four children.
• Increasingly, I find myself far too comfortable in the secure monotony of a jam-packed day that relinquishes me to little more than a chauffeur for my kids, and crappy, short-order cook for my wife.

Standing there, on the beach, I felt badly – hardly worthy of being in the wedding party that should be joyfully celebrating my good buddy and his beautiful wife’s renewed commitment to each other.

Just then, a blurb from a Maya Angelou poem freed my mind, saying:

“We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.”

-Maya Angelou

Suddenly, I felt a little better.

I glanced from side to side at my family and felt that it is okay to harbor regrets. I can certainly do so alongside absolutely loving the life I’ve created through this imperfect path.

No, I don’t plan to renew my vows at our twentieth anniversary next year. I do, though, thank my friends for doing so last weekend.

The sweet, quiet beachfront ceremony reminded me that you can achieve a “Happily Ever After” without necessarily being happy each day after.

Marriage is work. It’s okay to acknowledge that.

After all, if each of us is set to become a butterfly, we must start as a gross, booger-y cocoon.