Still In The Pocket Jacket

Still In The Pocket Jacket

John Paul Derryberry

Early in the morning in Kearny, Nebraska, I review my small set of notes and lay out my plan for a five-and-a-half-hour presentation, which I will give in about two hours. I woke up way earlier than I wanted to, so I'm meandering through the morning tasks as slowly as possible. The most frustrating part is getting the bow tie tied so it looks professional. After peeking at my notes again, I throw on the deep gray suit jacket and check all my pockets to ensure I have everything.

I feel the outline of old notes in the jacket's chest pocket and pull them out. They're the vows I wrote over 10 years ago for my wedding. The memory of telling myself to keep the vows in my pocket roared back. It's been a long time since I picked this suit for an event. I'm impressed it still fits. The pencil from my writing is fading. I can't fully make out my admittedly shaky handwriting, but re-reading the vows throws me down memory lane and the thought process of whether I am holding up my end of the bargain in my wife's and I's journey through life together. Am I sticking to my vows? My wife and my girls deserve a life where I to stick to these.

The worn paper feels soft, the micro tears on the edges make it feel correctly broken in, and the faded pencil lines reveal how it's aged beautifully. My memory runs through countless excellent getaways, numerous conversations about what's next, four job changes, two amazing daughters, all the laughter, and one move throughout these ten-plus years. A smile came across my face as my relationship flashback revealed a lot of healthy moments. I'm not perfect, but I'm better, and more importantly, I think my wife would say I have kept my vows. I feel it deep within my being that she has kept hers.

It's crazy that in our increasingly online world, tactile keepsakes hidden away to be discovered years later have such an emotional effect and pull on us. We need a deep connection with who we were, who we hope to be, and who we are. Somehow, even with these incredible online gadgets and gizmos, we have increased the effect of an old piece of paper, a photograph, a newspaper article, or a grainy video with lousy sound quality that profoundly tugs the heartstrings. Maybe it's because it's real or tethered to a huge life moment, but I feel the connection. The through line between John standing in front of my wife reading these vows and John standing in Kearny, Nebraska, doing his best to live up to them.

I carefully fold the paper and tuck it back into the chest suit pocket, as I do not want to age it any more than it already is. I want the suit jacket and the passing of time to continue to work its magic. I wish to stumble into these vows again when I'm older and forget where I put them. To have a reminder years from now about the risk of love and how it's a fantastic risk, with twists and turns, ups and downs, but always worth it if we risk it for the correct people.

Life always comes with heartbreak, whether we take the risk on someone or not, as long as we stay tethered to who we are. We cannot move through life without knowing that heartbreak is coming at some point. The old notes from my wedding day confirmed I was still tethered and engaged in that moment. I like the idea of little reminders being discovered along the way because that little piece of paper reminded me how great my relationship with my wife has been, how far we have come as people, and how I'm doing my best to keep the words on that paper true.