You can all text during yoga class this week. It’s fine. I’m so deliriously happy right now, I won’t even get mad. That’s a joke. Text during yoga, and I’ll still yoga shame you into the depths of hell, also known as holding chaturanga till you cry. Also a joke, of course…
I’m serious about the happy delirium though. I might need to fill my pockets with sand to keep me grounded.
Since many of you have asked (which is touching beyond words), here’s the quick scoop. Last Friday, we loaded the car with three surf boards, two bikes, a yoga mat, running gear, and entirely too many pairs of shoes for a weekend getaway on the Cape. While I grew up in Falmouth, we opted to venture farther out to Welfleet, a smaller town well-positioned for some incoming swell from Hurricane Gonzalo (hence the surf boards). It was a relatively last minute trip, thanks to a simple yet chic find on Airbnb– the best of its kind in my opinion– in which you feel like you’re staying somewhere cool, not crashing in someone’s house Goldilocks style while the owner attends Comic Con or something.
Did I know I was going to get engaged? Yes and no. Yes, because
Boyfriend Fiance now informs me that we’ve never “dated;” it was all just a premarital state of going out to eat and meeting each other’s relatives. He makes a good point since he told me that we were going to get married on our first date about two years ago. (You gotta respect his candor. The man has less tolerance for BS-ing than I have for yoga texting). Yet, I had to wait two love-filled years of feeling a bit the romance dunce that, as trite as the phrase is, “When you know, you KNOW” is utterly and wholly 100% true. I knew we were going to get married, and this was the person for me like I know I like eating avocado toast and wearing eclectic prints. I knew it in my core. Game over. The end.
But I wasn’t really expecting it when it actually happened. We arrived, dropped our bags, and rode to the beach on our bikes to “check the surf.” The sun was setting into that magical hour that streaks the sky in lavender, orange, and a color I’m fairly certain is actually called Proposal Pink. The surf was pumping. The piping plovers–hundreds of them– were flying overhead. Once we walked down the shore a bit, we were basically alone. Dunes rising to our left and the ocean to our right. A few surfers were out in the distance, sharing the ocean with several sea lions, hopefully no sharks.
He got down on one knee. I gaped in shock and delight, and since there was no one nearby, I shrieked my delighted lunatic head off. We hugged and cried and, more than anything, felt absurdly lucky we found each other. That the world seemed to conspire to put us together.
Which brings me to the part that I didn’t expect, for which I wasn’t prepared. People– many of you– have gone bezerk about this news! Within minutes, our phones were buzzing and blinking and demanding a wedding date and venue. Within days, our little apartment was brimming with flowers. Our friends and my yoga students, Abbey and Carlos, delivered champagne to class (the one time it’s totally acceptable to bring booze to yoga). Their daughter drew us a card, complete with me, nay with exceedingly long hair as I originally thought, but wearing a veil. Students wanted to hug and ring-oggle and mazel tov me. Thousands of Likes and messages appeared on social media. Cards came in the mail with invitations to celebrate. I’ve never felt such an immense outpouring of love, from so many directions, at once. People love love, apparently.
After we were done crying and cuddling, we took in our surroundings again. The colors in the sky, piping plovers, surfers, and, now gathered in a semicircle, four sea lions, heads poking above the surface, watching us. What on earth is all the racket, they wondered. We stood, watching them back. Embraced by nature and held still for a moment in time– just a couple on a Cape Cod beach, at the beginning of forever.