two years

We spent three glorious fall days in Portland, Maine last October, a tag-on anniversary celebration after spending a few days in Boston visiting grad schools.

And, two years of marriage! (Two years and four months, now.) I tried to write about marriage so much in our first six months being married before realizing I had absolutely nothing to say. It was all so new, so unknown, and there was so much to process and try to understand about myself, much less another human being. I just didn't know how to think about it yet. When people asked me how married life was going, I found I just told them made-up things to assuage their questioning.

But, maybe, now – I'd like to think – I'm coming into it. I know I can say this, at least: marriage has been a safe place for me to grow in confidence in myself, and for that I am grateful. I think that is what marriage should be – not your everything, but the most safe kind of love, along with being a marked reminder of dying to yourself anew every day. I think of this line from Auden: "Afraid of our living task, the dying / which the coming day will ask." Marriage is a risk, a stepping boldly into that fear, into that risk of dying to self, even still as you grow more deeply into yourself. (Of course, there are plenty of ways to do that besides marriage – but it is one way.)

That's my two cents for two years, anyhow. Mainly, I like being married to Austin.

[all 35mm from Portland and some surrounding islands]

h-mooning

We settled on going to Joshua Tree for our honeymoon back in May, and I honestly don't think we even considered any other option. It was always: "Let's go to Joshua Tree."

We stayed in the Saguaro Hideaway Guesthouse, which was located five-minutes from the entrance to the park, and five-minutes from the one-block town of Joshua Tree. You can only access the house by dirt roads, which take you up and out of the valley a bit, to a secluded spot overlooking the mountains. The sun would rise around 5am each morning and strike pink light across the horizon and through the large windows into our house. We somehow never really changed time-zones, and ended up going to bed at 8pm and waking up at 5am with the sun. I wish we could do that every day.

We didn't really do all that much, in the best sense; we were usually either eating, sleeping, or hiking. We drank a lot of Joshua Tree Coffee Company's coffee, and ate the most satisfying cheese and egg bagels from Natural Sisters Café. Joshua Tree is sort of a quirky place: lots of climbers and hiker-types traveling through, and a handful of hippies who have settled there for good. It's quiet, especially in November, I'm guessing.

Our longest hike, along the Willow Hole Trail, took us deep into the strange silence of the rock formations. There is, of course, not a lot of visible life in the desert, or at least, that which would be apparent on the surface. So, it was always surprising to be walking along and suddenly hear a few birds chirping in a juniper bush, or see a handful of ants making their way into a hole, or catch a glimpse of a coyote far and away up a rock formation. Something about the desert landscape forces attentiveness, and maybe that's why I like it so much.

On our last day, we travelled back to Los Angeles. We splurged and stayed at the Ace Hotel, and all I can think about is the shampoo and the drinks we shared on the rooftop bar and how ridiculous it was that every person that worked there looked like an Urban Outfitters model, even (especially) the bell boy who took us to our room.

Our favorite places in Los Angeles: The Last Bookstore (huge, wonderful bookstore with a great art books section, just a few blocks from the Ace Hotel), Sqirl (long lines and sorrel pesto rice bowls for breakfast, which were so good we went twice), and lots of home goods stores, including: General Store, Individual Medley, and Reform School. I don't think we actually bought anything, but just perused around all the pretty things. And at Proof Bakery we shared the best earl gray tea cakes.

A honeymoon is such a particular time: the sudden quietness in the wake of the wedding, and the expectancy of a whole life together in front of you. There's so much to take in. And there is something, too, about the realization that you are about to spend a life with another person, and suddenly your love feels small, insignificant, as if it has much growing to do. Which it does, and that growing is demanding and magnificent all at once.

[all Honeywell Pentax, 35mm film]

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and it was good

These beautiful new bowls came in the mail the other day, one of the many gifts we have been given, and which I love. I keep remembering people who I have yet to thank for the ways they helped during our wedding: the many friends who baked cakes, the ones who drove back-and-forth again and again to the airport, those who hosted out-of-town guests, put up garlands in the church, delivered donuts, volunteered as parking attendants, or cleaned our house after we left for the honeymoon. We were given so many gifts, and, at times, it is overwhelming to even begin to know how to say thank you.

I kept telling myself that the wedding day did not have to be the best day ever, because I know myself well, and the perfectionist tendencies latent within me, and I did not want to put that much pressure on one day. But, it was a very good day: full of rain and early morning yoga and prayer and dancing and all the people in the world who I love the most in one place at one time, and then, at the end of the day, we were married. Just like that. It is still surprising, and wonderful.

And these words, from the book I brought along to read on our honeymoon: "Love of music, of sunsets and sea; a liking for the same kind of people; political opinions that are not radically divergent; a similar stance as we look at the stars and think of the marvelous strangeness of this universe —these are what build a marriage. And it is never to be taken for granted." These things, and grace.