The Wedding Guest.

Trusting in our own creative pace - and principles. 

I’d like you to imagine you’re at a wedding with some of the very best people you know, or just know of. People who because of their talent or just their humanity deserve, in your mind anyway, to fill concert halls. Imagine them all standing around chatting, enjoying the late afternoon sun, a sparkling flute in their hands, while light music wafts gently across the lawn. The whole event is utterly splendid yet somehow still manages to be relaxed and welcoming. You’re wearing your favourite dress, showing you at your best. The conversation is easy, you are delightfully immersed in pockets of tales.

Then the best man and bridesmaids start becoming increasingly vocal. They’re almost in danger of sounding a little obnoxious as they bellow across the gentle conversational ripples, “Excuse me! Ladies and Gentleman can we just have your attention please!” I know they’re just doing what they need to, but it has the effect of a plate being dropped.  Guests stop and look up, caught mid way between stories . “If you’d all just like to make your way down to the lake we’ll be doing a large group photo there. Thank you!”

No one is excited about this. People stop their easy, unpretentious interactions and a few sighs and grumbles start to gather like clouds moving in. They begin repeating the same statements,“Why must they do this nowadays? Couldn't they just leave it as it was, everyone was having such a lovely time, why must they always insist upon these things? In my time you just got on with it, didn't have to take pictures all time, what’s it for anyway? Everyone who cares is already here! Gerald! Do mind my shawl, it’s wrapped over your arm, oh for goodness sake darling do get a move on.”

I gather my things and start to walk with the crowd. I have come to accept and understand that this is simply what we do now, but I can’t help agree with some of the elderly dissenters. 

I know it’s expected at this sort of occasion, but instead of capturing small pools of laughter and interesting discussions, it’s all been stoped rather abruptly. We begin the awkward stumble down the lawn. Some ‘go getters’ who got in early hit the gravel path, motivated with the sheer determination to get there. 

Others like me, who want the day to carry on like it was don’t want to ruin the illusion. We attempt to gently saunter down the grassy slope, what’s the rush after all. But slowly, with dread I feel my heels sinking in. I keep my hands out wide for balance, my now warm drink held out before me like I’m in a relay race. I can’t even make it to the path now, even if I wanted to, my moment to do that has gone. The others got in early - it appears I missed the boat. Now there are too many people in the way and I’m just another guest within the vast, slowly moving mass. We’ve all committed to a descent into someone’s vision of how this should all look.  A lady with a large pheasant feathered fascinator says to her friend, who’s clutching her arm for support, “Why can’t they just take their pictures while people stand around? I hate this! It’s utterly ridiculous that I should have to prance about like this at my age!”.

An older gentleman next to her has given up entirely and decided to “Just wait it out at the top”. He has found a chair under the trees and appears content to be left behind, alone, except I know he is one of the leading authors of the 20th Century. I look back. Why don’t I just stay here? I could learn so much from him. I hesitate a little but the crowd has me in some strange pull. I feel torn between missing the photographic moment - or missing the real one unfolding behind me. I look around and watch all of these talented people fighting their way down the lawn. Most guests laugh and play along but after a while I see little beads of sweat and furrowed brows. They’re not liking this anymore than I am. A few begin to remove a jacket or two, some of the ladies have resorted to unstrapping their heels and while they smile, I see their discomfort and I feel pity - for all of us, trapped in this momentum of absurdity. 

I start to slow, issuing apologies as people come up behind me, it feels as if I’m taking up valuable space here in the middle lane. The ones who are seasoned at this, who got to the path first seem, to everyone else, like they got a head start. They didn't of course, they just knew the game, and they took their chance while everyone was still thinking about it. They seem to be having a great time at the bottom with the rest of the wedding party, their heels are still on, hair and make-up remain perfectly in place. “Just walk there!” They shout, “It’s much easier if you just go there”. We all roll our eyes collectively knowing how easy hindsight is, knowing our satin heels already have grass stains, so let’s keep what dignity we have left and not scuff them too.

I know I’m missing something. This isn’t for me. I stop, a hand touches my shoulder, it’s the photographers assistant. “There’s a path over there if you prefer, it’s quite easy to get down, but just we need to hurry up a little, because we really do need everyone to be together.” I smile and nod politely and start to pick my way down again. I watch her make the rounds passive aggressively touching shoulders, reminding people to hurry in the nicest way, “Don’t want to get left behind, it’s really just a few easy steps!”

I see this wave of immensely talented people all being pushed ‘gently’. Harassed with a warm smile and as a result they all seem to me reduced somehow. These great talents, these extraordinary people have somehow been diluted into mass conformity, stumbling down a hill they never wanted to be on. They’re being asked to record the moment for posterity, so that other’s can look back on it, but they all had wonderful conversations cut off in order to capture it.

I stop once again. I’ve made a choice.  I turn and start to walk back up the hill. I take my shoes off, no one will care anyway. I let the wind gently cool my face, I can hear the soft music at the top playing. A few startled waiters look at me awkwardly. I walk across to the lone seated figure, he has a content smile on his face as he taps a hand on his lap to the music. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you” I say, “But I’ve decided to not attempt the descent with the others, would you mind if I joined you?”

He squints in the sun as he looks at me, this behemoth of intellect and talent. This literacy genius so quiet, so unaffected by all the noise down by the lake. He smiles at me and gestures to the chair next to him. 

“You’re most welcome my dear. Do you know that this is the forty-third wedding that I have attended and in all that time I find the most delightful thing is to choose to be alone in a crowd. I enjoy my own company immensely, but even more than that I enjoy the opportunity to hear oneself think and if you’re lucky enough, to also be able to hear the company you're with.”

We sit together in delightful conversation for the remainder of the day. The photographer takes a picture while we’re not looking. I have it on my mantlepiece. We never made the group shot, we don’t exist in that sphere at the lake, but I lived more in that one afternoon than I had in years.

This is all in my head of course, it’s all an analogy for how I find myself in this new media world. I want to sit under a tree with Tennyson and Kipling. I wonder what they were like? I want to visit old bookshops and not tell a soul. I want to live without needing to be seen doing it. I’m halfway down the hill, I’m looking back to those who achieved greatness and never had to post four times a day in order to be heard, changing their tactics like fly fisherman, switching bait between apps. 

The music is so lovely now without all the noise. There is a breeze blowing, the leaves shift, the lights suspended from the boughs above will be lit soon. I see two waiters flirting with each other, a summer job, they’ll remember this. I’m content here. I don't want to walk down the hill. I don't want to hitch up my beautiful antique skirt so I don't trip in the race to get to where we’re all supposed to be. 

I think I may stay here instead and learn to be happy with being alone in my creative pursuits. I might not be noticed or remembered, but I shall wear this creative outfit simply because it is beautiful in it’s own way and I can’t afford for it to get trampled on while I try to keep up. I’ll find the eccentric guests with the loud tie or hat, that will fill my heart and mind with their tales. I’ll smile at the bright young things, who are dancing by the lake, why not, life is for living and they seem to be having fun. But I’m going to allow the music to drift around me on the evening air, even if no one else is listening. I’m going to watch the older couple dancing as they did after the war, seeing her as a young bride of twenty as her beau still does.

The evening wears on and for many the champagne has gone to their heads, the gentle tones now replaced by a louder note. Quick lines exchanged, no longer elegant phrases moving between them. But in a few hours after the bubbles have burst and the good red is poured, a vintage from the past that cannot be replicated then I’ll start to see them all again. They’ll tire of the day, of the race. And the good conversations will begin once again.  

I know that perhaps one day I might wish that I had been in that picture with everyone else. That I had chosen the gravel path right at the start, been there in the thick of it, but for now I have to make a choice, I have to choose the one I’d regret more. Because I may never get this opportunity of life again. It could be shorter or longer than I ever imagined, and I have to live it in the way that brings me joy and more than that, the one that brings me peace.

There is so much beauty to be shared, but I will do it  in my way and in my own time. And if I get left behind then that’s ok. Because on the days I didn’t share or create or like or post, I’ll know that I lived instead. 

Writer - Liberty Of Elle