You know the old saying: If you agree to officiate one wedding, be prepared to officiate more.

That’s not a saying, but it doesn’t make it untrue. 

This past September, I officiated my brother’s wedding. You’ll be disappointed to know I wasn’t sobbing alone the morning of like I did for the last, well, first, wedding I officiated. 

I wasn’t void of emotion. Instead, I was mistaken for someone who knows how to plan a wedding ceremony. I don’t know how that happened, but I was willing to take on the task despite not knowing what I was doing. It was a welcomed distraction, one I hoped would prevent me from turning into a sobbing mess on the day of the wedding.

The previous wedding I officiated had a wedding planner who told everybody what to do. Someone who organizes hundreds of weddings a year. All I needed to do was go where I was told and read the ceremony I wrote. 

Unfortunately for my brother and his bride-to-be, I was the wedding planner. To make matters worse, the weather was gloomy and rainy, leading to a last-minute change in venue from a lakeside wedding to inside a restaurant that wasn’t built with wedding ceremonies in mind. 

Before the rehearsal, the bride told me she would like my help making sure everyone knew where they should be and when. I agreed, confident that when the day came, she would make all of the decisions, and I would play the part of emotional support officiant. 

I was wrong. 

She was overwhelmed on the day of the rehearsal, so I decided to take charge and pretended as though I had officiated thousands of weddings. 

I pulled her aside to get a clear picture of what her vision was for her big day. I decided to start simple.

“What side are you going to be standing on?” I asked. 

She stared back at me, eyes wide. 

“What side am I supposed to stand on?” She asked. 

Is there a right side for her to stand on? Is one side a faux paux? Is this like one ear being the “gay ear” people talked about back in high school?

“You decide,” I said, gesturing to where the ceremony would take place, “when you look there, where do you see yourself standing?”

“Right,” she said.

“There you go! Now we’re making decisions.”

I could tell she needed confidence, so I faked having a clue as to what I was doing. Fortunately for both of us, I spend my life faking as though I know what I am doing. I put together a wedding ceremony on the fly. 

When I spoke, people listened. When I told them where to go and where to stand, they listened. 

You can get drunk power like that.

I woke up the morning of the wedding less concerned with officiating and more concerned that I had put together a terrible ceremony. Instead of focusing on that, I spent my morning reading over the words I wrote repeatedly. I resolved to knock it out of the park on that front in case there were questions about who planned the particulars of the wedding. 

The wedding wasn’t without its hiccups, but I’d venture it went as well as it could have, given the limitations of our space and my limitations as a wedding planner.

If you need an operational definition of hiccup, here’s a quick rundown: both flower girls left their baskets at home, forcing us to turn around when we were halfway to the wedding to get them. The bride lost her vows, leading to a last-minute ceremony re-write. My brother, the groom, forgot to bring the rings, forcing them to use mine and my wife’s wedding rings during the ceremony.

You know, hiccups. 

Fortunately for me, the change in venue, the space, and the hiccups tied in perfectly to the theme I chose to base my officiant speech around. As the bride entered the aisle, my nerves shifted to excitement. 

The theme? Chaos. 

I knew what I had printed in my hands would murder. 

When I got my first laugh, I glanced up from my binder to see my brother weeping like a child who dropped his ice cream cone. At that moment, I knew it was going to go well. 

Come to think of it, he cried almost through the entire ceremony, and he really lost it when he gave his speech during dinner. 

For the record, I didn’t cry a single time that day. I cried the next day and the day after that, but not the day of the wedding. 

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call a victory.

After the first laugh, it’s a blur of euphoria. 

Following the ceremony, I knew I had done well. I was proud of myself, which is rare for me. It felt amazing. Is this how normal people feel all the time?

I wasn’t prepared, however, for the compliments people threw my way following the ceremony. 

I’ve never been good at receiving praise or compliments. And following a wedding, people are obliged to tell me good job. So, while the compliments were terrific, they couldn’t match the buzz coursing through my body. Something new was set in motion.

Indecision is a mainstay in my life.

Question: What do you want for dinner? Response: I don’t care.

Question: What movie should we watch? Response: You pick.

Question: What book will you read next? Response: I have no idea. 

Following the wedding, I was struck with the most significant certainty I’ve had in my 39 years on this planet. 

I need to do more of that, I thought. 

To be clear, the “that” I am referring to is reading the words I have written in front of people.

So be it if it takes officiating a few weddings to do that. However, if you consider asking me to officiate your wedding, you should know I am done officiating pro bono.

Unless you ask nicely, that is. I’m a pushover. 

The day after the wedding, I decided it was time to stop talking and thinking about my dream and finally pursue it. I knew exactly what I needed to do…

Quit the job I have had for the past sixteen years. 

Easier said than done. 

On my first day back to work following the long wedding weekend, I found myself alone in my office at 3:00 PM (a common occurrence that aided my decision to leave, but that’s a story for another day). 

The morning prior, I had resolved to give my CEO notice I would be leaving. At that moment, I knew it was the correct decision. It needed to happen. 

As time moved forward, anxious doubt slowly flooded my body and mind. Those old, familiar thoughts came crashing down on me. 

Are you going to give up your income and benefits? What kind of husband and father does that to his family? Who exactly do you think you are, some undiscovered talent the world is waiting to find? You don’t have any talent. People who say they like what you write are just being friendly. You are going to disappoint everyone who cares about you. You are going to fail and end up in another job you hate. You are going to be forced to give up fun. Well, at least as a starving artist, you’ll drop a little more weight.

It’s pretty neat between my ears, don’t you think? I especially enjoy how I can still add a skosh of body shaming on top. 

The weight was more than I could bear. Hands shaking and short of breath, I sobbed for 45 minutes. At least I’m consistent, right?

“I don’t know what to do,” I said to my empty office. 

A softer, gentler voice responded from a deep corner of my brain: you know what to do. It’s time to leap. 

I sat staring at my CEO’s contact on my phone screen, working up the strength and courage to press the ‘Call’ button. 

Finally, I pulled myself together enough to press the button. I explained that I would stay on as long as necessary to fill my position and that I was leaving to pursue my dream. 

“Congratulations,” my CEO said to me earnestly.

I viewed quitting my job to pursue writing as taking a leap with nothing but hope that a net would appear to save me from slamming into the ground. 

Currently, I am still in a free fall with my eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the net to catch me. 

Over the past couple of months, I have learned that incredible people surround me. Not a single person has expressed doubts or worry. Well, at least not to me. 

The support the people I love have given me is stunning. 

I wish I could say the same for myself, but as I write this in a coffee shop down the road from my house with tears rolling down my cheeks, I can assure you I am terrified. 

I’m doing this for my children. I want them to know nothing ismore important than going after what will make them the happiest version of themselves. 

I’m doing this for my wife, Jenni, who supports and encourages me daily. 

I’m doing this for my family and friends because I’d like to introduce them to the Tim who is truly happy and fulfilled. 

Above all, I am doing this for me. I am doing it for Timmy, writing a short story about a basketball player in 5th grade falling in love with the feeling when the words cascade from brain to fingertips. I am doing it for Tim, who heard, “You have a real writing talent,” from a professor during his first year of college but ignored it because writing as a career isn’t practical. 

Driving home from work one afternoon this summer, I knew I needed to make a change. I also knew myself and figured I’d never work up the courage to do it when “Shake It Out” by Florence + The Machine started playing. I sang along to it five times in a row with tears streaming down my face because the lyrics hit different that day. 

I am done with being terrified of what other people might think or say about me. From here on out, I am going to do what makes me happy.

This.

In the incomparable words of Florence and The Machine, “And I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t, so here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope.”

Cheers.