Today I had the opportunity to watch two people I love very dearly become one team. I’m not talking Quidditch here. I’m talking about two people become lifelong partners in marriage. The wedding was a refreshing blast of love and happiness in a time that has been clouded by sadness and death. It was necessary and powerful and perfect in so many ways. The moment that held my heart most of all were the vows. The groom read a set of promises that were eloquent and deep and romantic. And then the bride said this wonderful man was the first person to ever love her for who she was at that moment and not who she was going to be or had the potential to be. In that moment my eyes grew wet and I remembered what it feels like to love yourself for who you are and not the person you have the potential to be.
In the space between those words I flashed between all her loves I’ve known and the people who’ve loved me and who I’ve loved and came back with an extremely short list of people who’ve ever loved me regardless—who’ve loved me without context, or pre-approval, or thought of who I can be or do for them, or what I can become. I don’t know that I can put myself on that list, and I’m the most important person on that list. I believe that if you can’t love yourself for who you are it is impossible to become who you intend to be.