married in a week

We’ll be married in a week. What I’m looking forward to the most about the events themselves is that everyone around me, everyone I care about, will be happy. Mostly. You and I won’t be, you less so than me. Not because I have more interest in the events, or even whatever semantic argument you may have about logistics and sleep or whatever. It’s because there will be less of me there than there will be you. Let me explain.

After years of doing different things and being a part of different things, I think I now recognize what makes me happy and what makes me unhappy. I feel happy in regular life, and especially unhappy during particularly “special” times. Happiness, in this way, is also a proxy to how present “I” am; I simply exist more during regular times and less during special times.

Like let’s say my trip with my friends, the most memorable parts were not the big social moments, not the big party stuff, not even the excursions themselves. It was when we were just sitting around yapping, or when I was just with me or two other people just vibing when we were supposed to be with the rest of the group. I feel comfort and safety and peace and therefore happiness when I’m living between point A and point B and am not near or at point B.

My happiness occurs during the in-between parts of life. It’s not the trips and vacations themselves, it’s when we’re driving from point A to point B, or when we’re waiting for a plane, or when we’re doing the in-between thing on the way to the thing we’re actually supposed to do. That’s when I feel my happiest. I love thundershowers because the only thing you can do is watch from the window, it is a natural pause nature gifts us, as if to say “you must wait now, in between what you were doing before, and what you must go out to do afterwards”.

I like the mundane of regular life because it’s the in-between; I yearn for what most consider “boring” because that’s the little space in which I’m actually me. The rest, the big stuff, the events, the checkpoints, that’s not me. That’s when I suppress myself and perform for others, and it doesn’t bring me any joy. Rather it’s painful at times and I feel like it’s something I have to endure because nobody else wants to be in the in-between with me. Then one day I met a person named Priya, and for a while I found myself in the company of another, perhaps a kindred spirit, that existed with me in the in-between.

I’ve since learned that isn’t quite the case.

You and I are very different in this way, if what you say about yourself is to be believed. You live for the big moments, the big high effort thing, the highly visible parts that are the only parts of life that mean something. You may not say these words exactly, but that is what you mean with the words you do say. This is why you place such immense importance on these concentrated windows of time, the events. I see it in your demeanour, you’re highly distracted by what’s next after something and before something else. You don’t believe in the path in between, you don’t view it as freeing the way I do. It’s not about the journey, it’s the destination.

But I think you actually like it when you’re not forcing yourself to pay attention to the next big thing, I think you just haven’t acknowledged that part of you yet. I think you like the parts in between, the unscripted unscheduled parts of existence, you just don’t allow yourself to accept it. I make this claim because I’ve seen you in the in-between parts of life, when you aren’t sabotaging it for yourself. I see that there’s a part of you curious about what it’s like to just exist without agenda; that’s why the day that changed your life was a day you just spent by yourself without a checklist to complete, without goals to meet. I always found it so interesting that one of the most significant days in your life, described by you, was one in which you did something so uncharacteristic of you. You took yourself out on a date, and you labelled it as such because you still needed to give it purpose by giving it a name. In reality what you did was just pause and allow yourself to exist without concern for “the next thing”.

I’m at a point in my personal journey where I see that the true treasure is the mundane in-between; I don’t use anticipation as a mechanism to feel joy, I almost equate the feeling of anticipation with the feeling of suffering. You on the other hand revel in the anticipatory sensation, that is what you feel brings you joy. The part you don’t see is how damaging anticipation is to you, because now you’re empty unless there is something external to put life back into you. This ideological difference between us explains most of the ways in which you and I live life differently. But I think there is a piece of the puzzle of Priya missing from this story, the same piece that briefly proved its existence on that day you spent with yourself in a way you never otherwise would’ve.

I have asked myself before, and revisit the question at times, what is the biggest gift I can give you? Why, against the odds of all the ways in which we’re dissimilar, are we tied? A generic partner, a father for children, a sycophant friend to keep you company, these are not the core value I could add to your life. You have money and means, and enough know-how to ensure your own survival without me (or anyone). I am not unique because I can provide you parenthood, you don’t need a person to get resources. However I am uniquely your foil, I am opposite to you in the way I think about life. Perhaps the biggest gift I can give you is forcing you to meet the other part of yourself, the part that is more interested in genuine self-expression than following the trendy indoctrination of the week. Through me maybe, you’ll meet the other Priya, the one you exchanged glances with at the café alone.

We’re going to be married in a week, and what I’m looking forward to the most is right after this point A, far far far away in time from whatever point B is, because maybe I’ll meet you again in the in-between and we can hang out like before.