The Preferred Bride

I Do at (Nearly) 52

Merry Christmas, and greetings from a magical little island in the British West Indies, where I am celebrating peace, quiet, and my honeymoon.

It’s funny. I have been quietly resisting the word honeymoon. It feels antithetical to who I am at 52 (well..5 days shy of 52). And yet here I am, writing this as a newlywed. A title I celebrate, and one I never imagined I would embrace again, for a third time.

For those who don’t know me, there is something in that sentence I want to gently unpack.

It isn’t shame.
It isn’t pride.
And it certainly isn’t guilt.

It’s permission.

Permission to live honestly, even when the order looks different. I know it isn’t the societal norm to have married three times. While many of my friends are celebrating 25-plus years of marriage, I am five days into mine. And I am okay with that.

I never anticipated beginnings or endings. I have simply followed what felt true. That choice has come with love, loss, and (a lot of) judgment. Today, I celebrate love. A love I feel profoundly grateful to share.