Revised Personal Essay

Elizabeth Porter
5 April 2009
Narrative Journalism:

Engaged? Stumbling Upon the Mrs. Degree at K College


My mother told me a few days before I left for college that when she was a freshman at Northwestern in the late 1960’s, the goal for almost every one of her girlfriends was to find a husband by graduation. “Seriously?”, I had asked her, my mouth hanging open, incredulous. The idea of getting married immediately after college was something I had never even heard of, coming from the super liberal west coast, where marriage seemed very much optional. My childhood friends growing up often had divorced parents, like myself, and I had playmates that had two daddies or two mommies, some simply had parents that co-habited, not necessarily bothering with the formality of a ring. My elder brother, when he finally tied the knot with his live-in girlfriend of ten years, finalized their marriage license by signing it in the baggage claim of the Sacramento airport, something they almost forgot to do en route to their honeymoon.
So when I moved to Michigan for college, marriage, something that seemed more common, more traditional, and seemed to happen much earlier in life, was not even a slight possibility for myself. As a handful of friends from high school, and one or two of my college classmates, became romantically involved and then engaged, I will admit that I sometimes judged them, at times felt sorry for them. Perhaps it is the jaded nature of my generation that marriage has always seemed an phony contract, easily broken – like a fleeting phase, procured in drive-thru chapels in Las Vegas a la Britney Spears, or, for the truly adventurous, in front of millions on a reality TV show.
So when I found myself leaning over the glass countertop in the jewelry section at Boscov’s, the glass warm under my palms from the reflected lighting, a million glittering engagement rings sparkling under my eyes, the scene felt dream-like, and not only because of the two glasses of champagne I had just downed.
A week after St. Patrick’s Day, I found myself at a crossroads; the question, popped half romantically and half practically, was a weird illustration of the concept of marriage, distorted since my mother’s time in college. After discovering that my Teach for America placement could only be negotiated based on whether or not my partner was also my husband-to-be, the proposal happened over the phone, after a serious discussion. “Well, we could solve this whole problem by getting engaged, you know,” my now-fiancée told me. “Is that a proposal?” I asked him. “Sure,” he said. “Okay,” I said.
I am happy with the decision. While I anticipate a long engagement – maybe sooner than five years, but who can really tell – there was not the requisite formality that Americans in generations past would have expected. No bended knee, no anxiety-fraught request of permission from my father. I know that this is the right life decision for me: intuitively I feel good about it. I worry, though, that perhaps the resoluteness of my now fresh decision will one day fade.
As I hung up the phone after our conversation that day, having decided to become engaged, I felt butterflies in my chest and stomach – but not the bad kind. Instead, I felt exhilarated, a little lightheaded. Images of monogrammed towels and summer vacations and the Christmas cards we would have together spun in my head, and I smiled. For the rest of the day, unsure about how to share the news with my friends and family, unsure of how I would be received, I walked around feeling giddy and happy and light. I didn’t feel trapped or claustrophobic, which is how I always imagined a lifelong agreement must feel like – spending the rest of my life with my now fiancée seemed so natural. I was elated.
Over the next few weeks though, the dust slowly settled. Somehow, the surreal nature of my modern-day engagement, with the concept of throwing a wedding, with church bells and rings and cake, bewildered me, and this feeling hasn’t subsided. I’m still happy with the decision, just very unsure of how I go about it: a marriage isn’t just monogrammed towels and Christmas cards – is it? The expectations and rules of how to go about getting married have been so revised over the last generations. During my last phone conversation with my grandmother, she inquired about whether or not the place cards for the reception dinner had been finished yet.
It seems to throw off my friends too. One of my closest girlfriends told me recently that she just didn’t think I was “the kind of person,” that got engaged. Conversely, an old study abroad buddy Facebooked me to say “CONGRAGULATIONS!!” . I get the idea that in some schools, being engaged is not as rare in their graduating class.
Last week, I went to Barnes and Noble to figure out just how someone throws a wedding. After all, they don’t exactly teach that in college. What is the etiquette on announcing your engagement? Does Facebook count as acceptable these days? I selected a few outrageously priced magazines, all with smiling brides on each glossy page, all wearing white. Would I wear white, or is that just too traditional?
As I purchased the magazines, the clerk looked at me sort of like I had looked at myself in the mirror that morning: Really? her face seemed to say.
Really. For now, I am wearing my grandmother’s anniversary ring, until we can afford a “real” engagement ring. On Graduation Day, I imagine myself preparing to walk across the stage: all requirements completed, SIP turned in. Cap: check. Gown: check. Ring: check. I will carry my grandmother’s ring, perched on my right hand, across the stage, and I can’t help but wonder, knowing what my mother would say about her generation, just what my grandmother might tell me.