As a new year dawns, what did we learn— and how have we changed?
As much as I wanted to see my daughter under the chuppah, I’m really not looking forward to making a wedding.
That sounds bad. To clarify, I love simchahs! Other people’s simchahs… where I can come and go as I please, be as sociable or as silent as I wish. But the idea of smiling and talking, and nodding and talking, and hugging and talking some more… my windpipe constricts at the thought. Not to mention the pressure of making sure Great-Aunt K. receives her gluten-free, low-salt, no-flavor, vegetarian meal, and that Cousin Batya — who schlepped in from Karmiel — finds a seat.
Last year I thought that when you do the hosting, you must stay up nights figuring out the logistics — stuffing your hard drive with Excel lists, emails to the entire world (and some), and enough bridal-gown photos to create a catalogue. But your heart must remain empty and bland because when you’re swept off your feet running two thousand errands, who has time to feel?
Last year I thought: While all I want is to dance with my daughter, pray for her welfare, and drink in the joy of the moment, there’s no such thing as a perfect simchah; not when you’re the one doing the hosting.
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