Illustration by Vian Wrya
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After the congratulations faded and the glow of our Filipino-Canadian wedding settled – the unity candle, the veil and cord, the nod to my wife’s Celtic roots with an Irish blessing, the packed dance floor – it felt like something had just begun.
Now in my 30s, I thought I had adulthood more or less figured out. Being married has a way of accelerating things. It hasn’t changed who I am, exactly, but it has changed the pace at which life seems to move and how I look at it now. And I’m learning to move with it.
It’s only been a few months.
Our friends and family told us to relax, to enjoy being newly married. So we are. We’re cooking more, lingering over coffee, letting evenings stretch out without filling them with plans. It’s not dramatic; it’s just slower, steadier, more intentional.
We’re doing all that while a quiet checklist is forming in the background – not a frantic “we must do this now” list, but a gentle inventory of the life we’re building. Some items we’re already moving through, others we’re just naming so they don’t get lost: open an First Home Savings Account (FHSA), contribute to our RRSPs, save for a home, plan for kids, maintain friendships, stay active, keep routines steady. We even started going to open houses.
Nothing has fundamentally changed. And yet everything feels slightly different – like life has shifted into a more deliberate forward motion. I’m not saying being married is the answer, in fact it brings up more of life’s pondering than ever – wondering what kind of parents we’d be; which neighbourhood we want to move into; asking what kind of community we want around us; imagining how our careers might evolve alongside the life we’re shaping; noticing how time feels more finite and precious. It’s not anxiety – more like a widening horizon.
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Maybe this is what the postwedding high feels like. A sense of momentum that’s both energizing and disorienting. I find myself wanting to harness it, to turn the excitement of starting a life together into something steady and meaningful. At the same time, I’m learning not to rush – to resist the urge to turn every possibility into a plan.
Each day feels like we’re stepping into something larger, shaping a shared life decision by decision.
There’s also been a turn inward. Not nostalgic, exactly, but reflective. I find myself thinking about both our sets of parents – how they navigated these early years of marriage, with their own uncertainties. How did they manage it? How did they make it feel possible? My in-laws were fresh undergrads moving across the country to become teachers, building a life from scratch. My mom was preparing to immigrate to Canada while my dad became a stay‑at‑home parent in the Philippines, holding our family together through a different kind of transition. Shaped by movement and responsibility, both our parents had such courage to build their lives with such strong purpose together.
Our circumstances are different. I don’t mean better or worse – just shaped by another complexity entirely. The economy lingers in the background – its uncertainly was an unspoken presence that never quite made it into wedding speeches. Housing feels increasingly out of reach. Groceries creep up month after month. We set savings goals, only to adjust them almost immediately.
But being married is being hopeful; pressures solidify what matters. Checklist, plans and uncertainties sharpen priorities. I know an uncertain future is still one worth investing in because I’ve got my wife to do it with.
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In my vows, I used a made up word kabangka, which for me means to be in the same boat. I picture us in a small vessel, moving through calm and rough water alike, learning our rhythm. Sometimes we’ll glide, sometimes drift, sometimes circle, but we move forward together. It already feels like the right place to be.
One day I might go back to this moment and trust that I still have this sense of joining something larger. Others have done this before us and others have found their way.
Maybe that’s the point. Marriage isn’t about perfect timing or flawless plans. It’s about motion: adjusting to the current, trusting you’ll find direction.
Building a life happens one decision at a time. Our marriage is a good thing, but we cannot ignore that we’ll need help from everyone, from the government to manage the economy to our friends and family to keep us going. What a beautiful life to be in, what a beautiful way to live.
Marko de Guzman lives in Ottawa.