Earlier this summer, I gave the Best Man’s speech at a spectacular, fairytale wedding on the Amalfi Coast. I thoroughly enjoyed the unique challenge of putting pen to paper, somehow blending soppiness and sexual innuendo. I was blown away by the panoramic view from a Ravello rooftop. But around my eighth Aperol Spritz, I engaged in the existential crisis that is common practice for plenty of “midults” like me. As the poolside dance-floor filled, I was saddled with a sense of feeling stuck. I was happy for my friends, and honored to play a role in their special day, but suddenly acutely aware of my own situation.
A year ago, I was made redundant from my job at a technology magazine. Although I’ve made a decent fist of freelance journalism and copywriting since, the feast or famine routine is a far cry from the stability I had hoped for in my 30s. Mortgage lenders don’t look kindly on the self-employed. I don’t have any paid holiday or sick leave. So as my partner and I clinked glasses and twirled under the moonglow, with our own wedding to plan and pay for in a few months, I was racked by guilt for not having surer footing.
I should be further ahead by now. I should be more settled. These are anxieties I deal with most days. But weddings tend to exacerbate them.
Don’t get me wrong, there are aspects of weddings I enjoy: the chance to catch up with old friends, tear-jerking toasts and, ideally, a free bar. There are others I have to psych myself up to endure: wearing a suit in sweltering heat, Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’, and the painful introspection brought on by that innocent yet loaded question from other guests: what are you up to these days?
Weddings, in my experience, tend to follow a similar script. They assume forward momentum. People only really want you to share positive news: think baby, promotion, or plan for your next home renovation.
If you can’t deliver, then small talk is tough. But not going to weddings isn’t really an option. I’m not made of stone. I care. Regardless of my own personal frustrations, I love my friends, and I don’t want to disappear from the happiest chapters of their lives just because I’m still figuring out my own stuff.
So, with a couple more weddings still to get through this summer, I’ve come up with a four-point plan for how I can survive—with my self-esteem and my soul intact.
Firstly, I need to remember that it’s not a race. People get their breaks at different stages in life. It took Sir James Dyson over 5,000 prototypes before launching the first Dyson vacuum cleaner at 46. Julia Donaldson did not publish The Gruffalo until she was 50. Colonel Sanders only started franchising KFC at 62.
Secondly, I want to invest in my own milestones. Whether it’s related to work or fitness, I’m going to say well done to myself when I deserve it. Every article I write for a big publication is something that teenage me would be thrilled about. Getting a new personal best at Parkrun is also worth a pat on the back. According to one study last year, engaging in just 20 seconds of daily self-affirming talk can lead to significant improvements in wellbeing and stress reduction.
Thirdly, I’m going to have an exit strategy early doors. Not every wedding needs me on the dance-floor until midnight. I’m going to give myself permission to be more self-caring with my time. I’ll stay for as little or as long as I feel equipped to deal with.
Finally, I’m going to pre-load my pre-wedding schedule. I’m going to book in the small things that nourish me: a long walk, a good book, a trip to the cinema, or dinner with someone who really gets what I’m going through.
Read More: When Life Is Chaotic, Less Is More
Emotional stamina is real and if weddings are marathon events, it’s important to hydrate first. It’s vital that I’ve had a couple of months or weeks before I go to a wedding, that are full of things I enjoy doing, so the day doesn’t feel like an exclamation point to a rut.
I don’t think any of these ideas are bulletproof. I’m sure there will still be moments that’ll hit me hard—like a speech that sounds like a blueprint for the life I thought I’d have by now. But I’m adamant that when I do meet these moments, I’ll do so with a bit more grace and calm than I have done in the past.
I will attend more weddings before I’ve finished figuring my stuff out. I’ll clap; I’ll cry; I’ll give thoughtful gifts. I’ll also keep a quiet knowledge that life doesn’t move in perfect choreography—and that’s OK.
Looking back, that night in Italy was both difficult and delightful. Great pasta helped. While weddings often highlight the uneven rhythms of life, they are also moments when we come closest to belonging—not because we’ve “arrived,” but because we’ve shown up anyway.