The day my wife, Karen, and I were married, everyone asked: "Do you feel different?" No, I didn't. She and I were married the day we fell in love, I always felt. My love for her, before and after the wedding day, until this day -- and, I'm sure, beyond it -- feels more profound than it did when we were all duded up and sweating under too much cloth in front of too many people who we wouldn't have invited if we had really had a choice. (By the way -- I'm not talking about the spiritual union; I'm talking about the trappings of the celebration and ceremony. The spiritual side has an importance beyond mere ceremony.)
My high school graduation? Didn't care in the least.
College gradation? Didn't go. Grad school? Got the diploma in the mail.
I was told by many wise people that I would regret not having attended these graduations. So far . . . um . . . nope.
Everyone, including me, always talks about living in the now. Maybe I do it
too well -- that is, if having no real feeling of connection to ceremony is a fault. But it means little to me, especially ceremony that marks transitions. I simply tend not to care.
I
can't make these occasions, with their canned speeches and their nearly scripted reactions and their homogenizing atmospheres, feel special.
