Rockaby, Rockaby...

Here I am – all dressed up. The gown is almost white but decided to change its mind at the last minute and turn into this pale , old pink. I think its beautiful, and the cloyingly sweet and super irritating saleswoman was right – my shoulders do look divine in strapless. Its strange that I feel this way on my wedding day – I am not elated and ecstatic, (but then I wonder if anyone really is), but I am not nervous or scared either. I am at ease – its almost weird – it’s so not me.

For as long as I have known myself, I have always been the neurotic one, and no matter how much I mediated or however many books I read on Buddhism and Taoism, I could never quite get it – the art of letting it be. Three years ago, I succumbed to the ultimate Jewish indulgence – at 370 dollars an hour, I got to talk about my job, my love hate , mostly hate, relationship with my mother, my indecisive Indian boyfriend, my fetish with protesting, my inability to be on time. It was liberating – how often do you just get to sit in a chair and whine. It may not cleanse your soul, the way meditation is supposed to, but it’s a lot like a good pedicure – luxurious and self-indulgent. Did the shrink cure me of my neurotic behavior – probably not , but as I sat there looking at her plants, and telling her – this perfect stranger – the story of my life, the words gushed out - words which had once crouched in the hidden corners of my stomach – malevolent and dark – tumbled through my body and hurtled off my tongue , and once they were out , they were simply words which dissipated and crumbled into the air as soon as they had been spoken.

Until then I had not realized how much power words can wield – we say them , we hear them ,we think them and then we tuck them away inside ourselves. I say I like cappuccino, and those words linger with me , and nudge me ever so often as I pass by a coffee shop. I said I can’t imagine a life without Sameer – and those words reinforced themselves every time I thought them , and every time I cried for them, and soon they were like steel – words that I couldn’t break out of no matter how hard I tried.

And in a million years, I wouldn’t have imagined the words, “ Abigail Rosenberg and Joshua Steiner.” In a million years, I wouldn’t have imagined the words, “Abby – it won’t kill you to have dinner with him.” In a million years, I wouldn’t have thought of myself as living in Long Island and walking down the aisle with a nice Jewish chemical engineer, with a gently receding hairline and an earnest smile . But here I am. I don’t really have the words to describe the way that I feel, but I don’t think I need any. I will just walk along and allow myself to be surprised.

I am listening to the organ play here comes the bride, but in my head I can hear Shawn Mullin’s lullaby -
Everything's gonna be alright,
Rockaby, Rockaby.