I had a busy weekend photographing a big event at UMass Dartmouth, then spent a lovely Sunday yesterday with old and new friends celebrating a very special bride friend. I took this morning off so that I could indulge in sleeping late, decompress a bit and run some errands. After a blissfully long shower, I went about the business of making myself some breakfast: a couple of eggs, some rosemary cut fresh from my back steps, and a leftover lump of fresh goat cheese all whipped into an omelette. The sun was streaming through the kitchen window, and I was humming to myself and thinking over the weekend’s events when I noticed how good my breakfast was looking. Light and fluffy, perfectly cooked, speckled with herbs; “I don’t think I’ve ever made a prettier omelette”, I thought. I was feeling pretty satisfied with myself as I flipped it over onto my plate perched on the counter, and over it flopped onto the floor. It actually hurt to watch it fall, and even though no one was home to hear me, I yelled out “NO!!” at the moment of impact.
I took a few deep breaths, wiped my breakfast off the linoleum, and headed back to the fridge. As I went through the steps again, it occurred to me just how much my egg debacle was like my wedding planning experience. Just at the moment I thought I was about to sit down and enjoy myself, something threw a wrench in my plans, and I had to start all over again. We’ll have been engaged for a little over two years when we finally get married, so there have been many flopped omelettes along the way, so to speak. It can be so difficult sometimes to watch your plans shift and change from your initial vision of your wedding day, but ultimately you have to learn to breathe and let go, then start back at the beginning. At the end of the day, I’ll be married to a man that I adore, no matter the color of the linens. Part of why I love photographing weddings so much is that I get to hang out with other brides who are going through all of the same things that I am, so I know I’m not crazy when I start seeing symbolism in my breakfast.
My new omelette wasn’t nearly as pretty, it was a little overcooked and lumpy, but I think I may have enjoyed it more because I had to work for it.
Has anyone else out there dropped their omelette lately, literally or figuratively?