The joy of marrying my best friends
Write about love, then say it out loud.
On Friday, September 21, 2018, I experienced one of the truest joys of my life when two of my best friends asked me to be the officiant and lead their timeless and extremely windy marriage ceremony under the Prince’s Gate in downtown Toronto. The initials of those were K + C, for further reference.
Then, about four years later on June 17, 2022, two other best friends invited me to officiate their marriage in a stunning ceremony at the Guild Inn estate. This was A + R.
When I eventually look back on what the happiest days of my life are (because I’m sure I have so many more to come), I can firmly say these two days will always sit near the top.
Let’s look at my most recent officiant experience to scratch the surface. I was standing in A + R’s house, over for a barbecue if I remember correctly, when they asked me to lead their ceremony, completely out of the blue. One minute you’re drinking a White Claw playing with grumbly lil’ Doug the pup, the next you’re grinning ear to ear like someone just said “you have the kind of energy that makes everyone else feel happier” (one of the best compliments I’ve ever received by the way, and my same reaction).
There is no right way to respond to this request: The easiest answer requires no thinking and simply involves saying “yes” as fast as physically possible. But how do I convey the rest of what I need to say? How do you tell these people, that somehow think you’re the one doing them a favor, that being part of one of the biggest days of their life is not only an absolute privilege, but one of the brightest joys of your already joyful life?
Forever grateful can’t even begin to describe how I feel to these four friends. In a roundabout way, I guess I’m kind of writing this for them, as a thank you and a memory unto itself. But for anyone else out there getting into the officiant game (#marriedbymax btw), maybe this can help. So this is what went through my mind during the whole thing.
Preparing for marriage
Planning a wedding is no small feat, with innumerous intricate parts coming together to construct a picture perfect day. There are so many moving parts: the music, the flowers, the seating charts, remembering to actually eat on the big day, etc. There is no room for, “we’ll see how it goes.”
Wedding itineraries are laid out similarly to how that one friend in your group tries to micromanage your cottage weekend via a Google doc mass emailed 14 days in advance:
3pm - 3:20pm: dockside mimosas
3:20pm - 4pm: free time
4pm - 4:10pm: prep charcuterie
In every wedding I’ve ever known, things are measured by the minute and almost always run late. It’s hard to have something like “Max’s ceremony: 4:30pm - ???” penciled in.
And yet, instead of opting for a traditional, reliable officiant who might talk about “dutiful marriage” while almost certainly folding in a Corinthians (Love is patient, love is kind), my friends chose me, and gave me director’s cut to say anything I want. Anything!
Seriously, I have to underscore this. Neither of the wonderful couples I officiated asked to look at what I was going to say, how long it was, or anything else. They just wanted to ensure I got the procession in order, which obviously makes sense (If you wanted to know, I made up a little mnemonic: every big man values ranch properly. Everyone, Bride, Me, Vows, Ring, Pronouncement. Yes it’s stupid.)
I essentially had carte blanche to write anything I wanted. I could have gone up there and gave a public reading of Infinite Jest if I really wanted to, and not like the fantastic writing of Poor Tony’s seizure scene, but the stupid Eschaton game part. Obviously, I did not read it aloud. But even more obviously, being given little to no direction made it incredibly hard to write anything at all. As Ezra Koenig sang, there were far too many instances of my page looking unbearably white.
The eternal question: How do I fold stories from decades of friendship, every instance I’ve seen of how these two people love each other, and my own take on love, into a sub-10 minute speech that also includes the normal “do you take this man/woman” and all that good stuff?
I had a few guiding factors. Here they are:
First: this speech is obviously not about me. We’re here to celebrate the love of these two wonderful people, so do the opposite of every couples therapist ever and leave out “I” statements.
Second: fold in short but endearing personal stories from our youngest times together. Remember to cover equal ground and focus on both people in front of you. This was tough for me, because in both instances, I had known one side of the couple for at least 10 years more than the other. This translates to literally hundreds more stories, memories, and embarrassing moments to draw from. But when someone is great (and my friends know how to pick great partners, I’ll tell ya), it's not hard to find something fantastic to say.
Third: move onto what I think about when I see them together. This is fun, because when two people really love each other, it’s hard not to notice. The romance, the undying support, the showing-up-to-pick-you-up-drunk-at-3-am-with-Domino’s-in-hand kind of thing. It’s everywhere, and it’s cheesy (literally) and beautiful and makes you believe that tiny bricks build the mightiest skyscrapers.
Fourth: fold in my personal element with a favorite poem, story, or song about love. This could be the toughest part. Every fucking song is about love. Losing it, lamenting it, finding it, making it, repairing it. From Etta’s At Last to Cardi’s WAP, love is our eventual muse. It always is. To paraphrase Cormac McCarthy, “Love was always here. Before man was, love waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner.” (Don’t look up the real quote it’s far more desolate).
There you have it: Max’s patented approach to writing a ceremony speech. Lightning in a bottle.
I also have to touch on the fact that, as a non-legal officiant (it is insanely hard to become one in Canada), I was not supposed to say “I now declare you husband and wife.” I do not have that power, But I had to taste it while I could, so as you’d imagine, there was no goddamn way in hell I was going to skip saying it. So I said it anyways, and the actual officiant got a bit mad at me, and everything still worked out. So if you’re looking to marry someone, just say it. No one actually cares except this slightly bored person the couple is paying a lot of money to just sit there and watch you do their job.
Here’s my takeaway. A lot of writing is simply about finding your voice. The words that make me, me. I tried to think about what a wedding would sound like narrated from my point of view, and I stumbled more than a few times. It’s not like writing an article, or a blog, or an essay, or a whitepaper. It has a particular cadence and theme. I can maybe only liken it to political speechwriting, except with two constituents who sleep together. This is something that few writers ever get a chance to actually write. Hell, I doubt Stephen King has even tried to write in this medium.
Given all this, what do I know about love? What does anyone know about love?
It took me a while to finally realize that I didn’t have to sit there and write 2200 words about the meaning of love. I just had to write what I felt about two best friends. Because that’s what love is. It’s two people being the best person they can for each other, every single day. Corinthians can get fucked, because love is neither blind nor patient. It’s earned dedication, and worry, and ecstasy, and frenzy; love is stories from the past curated for an audience of 100, and stories that deserve an audience of four or less; love is kicking off a speech with a lyrics from an Arctics Monkey song and seeing the only two smiles that matter, and a poem on how love is found in the smallest routines and every dog hair along the way.
Oh, and if you wanted to know, my go to love poem, with a selection read aloud during K +C’s ceremony.
Having a Coke with You - Frank O’Hara
