File #1 - the Quietest Moment
The bridesmaids had already walked down the aisle and were stood in position, the guests had admired them and were now turning back again, expectantly looking for the bride to make her appearance. All eyes were on the back of the room - except the groom’s of course - he was still turned the front and staring determinedly at his shoes, clearly holding back the tears already. Then, there she was - the bride, on her teenage son’s arm. But she didn’t start to walk down straight away - she stayed exactly where she was for one long breath.
I saw her smile and whisper something to her son - and only then did she begin to walk.
Every wedding ceremony has a hinge - a moment when you think, ‘right, this is it.’ Sometimes, it’s a certain line in the vows that makes you catch your breath, or sometimes it’s when you see the bride’s father looking fit to burst with pride - but on that day, it was the bride’s pause. That was the hinge. A human instinct that she had - to arrive fully before starting to move on again. I asked her later what she had whispered to her son - she had whispered, ‘hang on a minute, I need to feel it.’
We so often rush into the next thing, don’t we, that we often forget to take a moment to feel the weight of what’s happening right now.
Before a big moment - even one that no-one else will notice - stop. Put your hand on something real: a doorframe, your chest, a loved one’s shoulder. Take one breath, long enough to feel your pulse, and think, ‘I am here for this.’
That’s it. That’s ceremony, in miniature.