The Royal Wedding

It wasn’t my plan to watch the Royal Wedding. I really wasn’t interested. Royalty is as foreign as crumpets and tea to me. So, the whole notion of it doesn’t register. But my baby girl had other plans for me. Waking up before the crack of dawn, I stumbled, bleary eyed and half asleep into the living room. I flipped on the TV to create a little noise to distract her, and there they were. William and Kate, and a largely worthless commentary. A little like the red carpet chatter, except a royal version – more often than not telling us about what we already know or what we could care less to learn.

There was a certain sort of charm to the wedding, though. By the time they got to their vows, standing there on that beautiful alter at Westminster Abbey, I couldn’t help but think to what I’ve seen hundreds of times over by now. Two people, engaging in a ritual, truly, a force that can only exist through generations and community. And in that moment, they were just like everybody else. Except, of course, they weren’t. What were they thinking? What was inside their heads?

An event like this is impenetrable. Between the pomp and the circumstance, the crowds, and the adulation, no one will really know what was inside their heads. But maybe that’s not all so different. Every wedding is a little opaque. We show what we want. We show what we can’t hide. The rest, we keep buried inside.

Between the bottle feedings and morning cereal, I saw them exit Westminster Abbey, kiss, and continue on. And the commentary continued on, too. The running dialogue interspersed with marginally relevant interviews. Is this really what a wedding is? Maybe to the world. Not to a bride and groom, surely.

Weddings are such an odd intersections. A wedding is traffic stopped at a light, waiting to proceed, but beyond looking back. A conclusion and a start. A point at which our doubts are squelched, our questions pushed aside, and our future given to us. A day to celebrate not everything past, but everything forward. Running in slow motion, but far faster than you can store.

Who was their wedding photographer? I’ve thought that many times, but I never had the interest to find out. But what a task it must be. To be a documentarian not just for a couple, but for history. Is it about the ritual and rites, the tradition, the family, or the couple? Is it political or personal? Is it surface or is it substance? And how do you even decide? I don’t really know. But, in some ways, I think we have to ask ourselves something similar every wedding. Is it about the double chin? Or is it about the humanity? Can it be both? Does a picture slice right through the fabric of realty – is it revelation? Or is it surface, a sales pitch, and a story told too many times by too many cameras? Is it for the papers? Or is it for them?

They hopped on the carriage and made their way over to the palace. My sister, who is in town, walked into the room, and we talked about Kate’s dress and her hair. She thought Kate looked a little plain. And maybe she was. But I thought that was nice. Nothing excessive. Nothing over the top. Understated. She felt, as much as one can being carted around by horse in the middle of London, real. I don’t know what’s in store for the two of them. I don’t even know how they get along. But I saw them glance at one another and smile, and I felt a bit of hope. Isn’t that what weddings really are? Distilled, suspended, hope. So there it is. How do you capture that?