I woke up early to a deja vu of Christmas mornings past. My sisters were sitting excitedly on my bed, waking me for my wedding morning adventure. We piled into two cars with a handful of my closest friends headed for the beach. Hobbling into the icy sea, we skinny dipped, laughed, ate Costco croissants and drank coffees all before the fog had lifted. We set off for a morning of getting ready in a cabin constantly serenaded by old Taylor swift songs. We took turns fixing hair, taping boobs, crying spontaneous happy tears and pinching ourselves. When the afternoon hit, I met my husband near the beach. We snapped pictures with our oldest friends under the familiar shadow of pacific trees. The island where we had first spoken five years prior stood just across the water from us as we made our vows in private. From the beach we drove to our wedding together. This unplanned moment was so comforting, just the two of us buckled in as he drove felt so ordinary and sweet on such an extraordinary day. We arrived at my parents small farm, nestled between two mountains in the middle of Bowen Island. I was overwhelmed by joy as I walked down the isle between benches my dad built and flowers gathered from our neighbors garden. My sister was married in the exact same spot earlier in the year, which made the place feel twice blessed and filled with a special sort of magic for my family. My old family dog wandered the isles saying his hellos to our favorite people. We made our promises, kissed and ran back up the aisle to a Lumineers song. This was probably the happiest moment of my life. We ate Chipotle for dinner and homemade ice cream sandwiches for desert. The dance floor went crazy until the only cop on the island shut down the party. We caught up with old friends at empty tables and when the candles finally burned down to their bases we said our goodbyes to our sweet friends and our happiest day.
