10 Year Equinox Anniversary

The fall equinox. A change in season. A change in light.

A change. 

Today was supposed to be our 10 year wedding anniversary. We were supposed to renew our vows on the beach in Northern Michigan. We were supposed to rent a house for our family and friends. We were supposed to have a casual dinner party on the beach, catered by a local chef who picked the menu based on what was found at the farmer’s market that day.  We were supposed to dance as the sun went down. We were supposed to swim under the moonlit sky. We were supposed to sit by a bonfire laughing and singing and telling stories until the sun came back up. I was supposed to be barefoot. Carefree. Happy.

I know what we were supposed to do because we talked about it, two years ago, on our 8th wedding anniversary. We talked about it because I suppose I used to be the kind of girl who liked to plan and talk about her future. The kind of girl who liked to plan momentous celebrations with those she loves. I was the kind of girl who created a Pinterest board, filled with inspirations of outdoor dinner parties and beach bonfires. A Pinterest board now haunting me, full of images reminding of where I’m supposed to be. A board that keeps its company next to all the other boards of future trips and dinner recipes and experiences that Brad and I will never share together.

Things change. One season ends and another begins.

Brad used to joke he’d marry me as many times as it took for our marriage to stick. He knew my family and its history of multiple divorces (and subsequently multiple marriages), and refused to follow suit. So we got married for the first time on a Saturday in front of our friends and family and for the second time, the following Monday, on the fall equinox. It only made sense that we’d eventually get married a third time too. It's what we were supposed to do.

But that changed too.

And now, instead of spending this weekend on a beach, surrounded by loved ones, recommitting to my future, I am spending the equinox in solitude. I am spending this time reflecting on both my love with Brad and also reflecting on my future with myself. Like the equinox, it feels equally divided between the darkness and the light. 

I was supposed to be somewhere else today.  Instead, I am here, at Glacier National Park, spending the first day of fall climbing mountains and, once again, turning over a new leaf.