day six.
This was always going to be a retrospective blog, but I never expected to still be writing some two years on.
The memories are clear – but the context in which I now recall them, confused.
When the six of us bounded up the Grand Canyon, twenty two years each, there was little more on our minds than the search for another story.
We were all unmarried; all but I, unemployed.
Two years on, and we’re a scientist, a techie, an airline dude, an engineer, and a reporter. Herman’s still unemployed.
Perhaps the starkest difference – half the crew are now hitched.
Pete, Josh, and Derek have all married. And Jako has just popped the question to his now-fiancée.
Herman’s still single.
The memories are clear – but the context in which I now recall them, confused.
When the six of us bounded up the Grand Canyon, twenty two years each, there was little more on our minds than the search for another story.
We were all unmarried; all but I, unemployed.
Two years on, and we’re a scientist, a techie, an airline dude, an engineer, and a reporter. Herman’s still unemployed.
Perhaps the starkest difference – half the crew are now hitched.
Pete, Josh, and Derek have all married. And Jako has just popped the question to his now-fiancée.
Herman’s still single.
Pictures don't quite capture the true magnitude of the Grand Canyon. I’m not sure a thousand words would do better.
The view renders you unbalanced, forces you back on your seat, quickens your pulse. The edge seems too close and the end too far away.
You find yourself reaching forward, trying to spy the finish line, wondering for how long you'd fly.
And, against the vastness, you can't help but rescale your significance. There’s something in its magnificence which inspires thoughts of forever.
It’s why I wasn’t so surprised when Josh turned to me that day and said, “I’ve made my decision.”
“I’m going to ask Laura to marry me,” he said.
The view renders you unbalanced, forces you back on your seat, quickens your pulse. The edge seems too close and the end too far away.
You find yourself reaching forward, trying to spy the finish line, wondering for how long you'd fly.
And, against the vastness, you can't help but rescale your significance. There’s something in its magnificence which inspires thoughts of forever.
It’s why I wasn’t so surprised when Josh turned to me that day and said, “I’ve made my decision.”
“I’m going to ask Laura to marry me,” he said.
Even now, the sounds of wedding bells arouse that sensation of the seventh wonder.
Those echoing thoughts of forever again leave me unbalanced. Call me scared of commitment.
I don’t see myself at the end of an aisle. The very concept confuses me – the idea that one might require a piece of paper and a party to prove devotion.
My parents have been married for 26 years – but I’ve no doubt their union would be as strong tomorrow if the institution of marriage was ruled defunct tonight.
One in three married couples don't make it to their silver anniversary.
That’s what people stake their relationship on, as a grand gesture of commitment.
One in three. I don’t get it.
And yet, against all my howls, I prove myself a hypocrite.
When Josh cast his vote for marriage that day, atop the Grand Canyon, I wasn’t angry, or bewildered, or cynical.
I was happy.
When I received Jako’s text just weeks ago – “just casually got engaged tonight” – there it was again.
Comfort. Promise. Calm.
Worn out words to try capture that feeling that, for a moment, everything’s just as it should be. Everything’s proper and nothing's more perfect.
Those echoing thoughts of forever again leave me unbalanced. Call me scared of commitment.
I don’t see myself at the end of an aisle. The very concept confuses me – the idea that one might require a piece of paper and a party to prove devotion.
My parents have been married for 26 years – but I’ve no doubt their union would be as strong tomorrow if the institution of marriage was ruled defunct tonight.
One in three married couples don't make it to their silver anniversary.
That’s what people stake their relationship on, as a grand gesture of commitment.
One in three. I don’t get it.
And yet, against all my howls, I prove myself a hypocrite.
When Josh cast his vote for marriage that day, atop the Grand Canyon, I wasn’t angry, or bewildered, or cynical.
I was happy.
When I received Jako’s text just weeks ago – “just casually got engaged tonight” – there it was again.
Comfort. Promise. Calm.
Worn out words to try capture that feeling that, for a moment, everything’s just as it should be. Everything’s proper and nothing's more perfect.
The Grand Canyon is overwhelming and unnerving and altogether incomprehensible.
Transcendent. Commanding.
Beautiful.
I'm still not sure whether I'll ever marry. Or whether I even want to.
But I can promise my friends this –
I will celebrate your future. I will honour your bravery and devotion. I will love and support you always.
And I will hit on your bridesmaids.
Transcendent. Commanding.
Beautiful.
I'm still not sure whether I'll ever marry. Or whether I even want to.
But I can promise my friends this –
I will celebrate your future. I will honour your bravery and devotion. I will love and support you always.
And I will hit on your bridesmaids.