July 1978, a five year old Jule The Bee clings to the doorway of her Nana’s kitchen about to walk down the aisle at her parent’s wedding. Yes, I was at my parents wedding, but that’s not relevant here. That’s like a whole other blog post or at least an “Ask The Bee” which by the way is a section on this new site! That’s right! You should explore it! Well, after you read this, ok?
So there I am. Fresh pigtails, crisp white dress, pale pink satin ribbons secured to that baby fine hair that refused to behave for my mother, shiny white Mary Janes, and my own little bouquet of soft pink roses and Baby’s Breath.
So there I am. The music is playing, the bridesmaids have walked down the aisle, even our family’s miniature schnauzers have obediently done their part, my turn. Panic. Self doubt. Paralytic anxiety. I cling to the doorway and my Nana and I dissolve into fits of laughter. I can remember her peals of laughter, remember thinking I’ve never heard her laugh this hard, remember the feel of her hands on my small frame, remember her gasping for air through our joint hysterics, the smell of her perfume (Chanel #5) and then her whispering to me “Come on kiddo, you’re on, you’re up, let’s go” and just like that I let go of the doorway, emerging, down the aisle, past the swimming pool glowing with hundreds of floating tea candles in that thick sweet Georgia summer night air, finding my place under the chuppah, the butterflies dissolve and float away. It’s kind of how it’s always gone for me. Anticipatory nerves, crippling waves of self doubt and then somehow I manage to let go, inch my way to the edge, and jump, more often than not I bob back up to the surface and float just fine on my own and wonder why I took so long to work up the nerve in the first place. So here I am. My 46th birthday, I inch to the edge and jump. Wanna come with?