A few weeks ago, I worked with a couple who wanted an “unplugged wedding”. They had heard of the trend, in which the couple ask guests to not only turn off cell phones, but to put away cameras and phones completely for the ceremony. The idea is a return to “sacred space”, an opportunity for guests to be participants rather than observers. This couple got the idea completely. They wanted their guests to be fully present for the ceremony they had designed and planned for months. They were looking forward to making eye contact with their friends and family as they walked up the aisle, not with the back of an IPhone or a camera lens.

This was a gorgeous couple who chose to be married outside, in one of the spectacularly beautiful locations in Canmore. A perfect photographic location on a clear sky day in mid-September. The trees just tinting yellow. The mountains with a fresh dusting of snow. The girls’ dresses a rich teal blue. It was not an easy thing to do, to put away those cameras.

But this couple made sure I announced that they had hired a photographer (the fabulous photographer Christina at Funky Town Photography -www.funkytownphotography.com) and that they would share photographs with all the guests as soon as possible.

Which left everyone available to just be at the wedding. Hard as it might have been for some people, what a difference it made to us up at the front. Looking into the audience, making eye contact, sharing smiles, nodding back as a few of them teared up, caught by the poignancy of the vows or the image of a daughter or son looking about as fully awake as a person can look. Even though the backdrop was stunning, and the visual elements were grand, this wedding ceremony was all about feeling. And for this couple, being able to feel the connection with their dear friends and family heightened their own experience, and made the day perfect.

I like idea of an unplugged ceremony a lot, and I will recommend it to other couples, who want to highlight that sense of connectedness with their guests.

On the other hand.

The following weekend we celebrated an intimate wedding with about 20 guests in a small renovated historic house. Cameras, phones and video were out as the wedding party pranced up the aisle, and they stayed out throughout the service. I have no doubt some of the photos were live tweeted to Ireland before the champagne corks popped, which means there might have been some texting going on as soon as the couple kissed. And yet. There was a deep sense of connection and engagement, and there was no doubt in my mind at all that these guests were totally and joyfully in the moment for this wedding.

In fact, not only were the guest present riveted on the service, but thanks to the miracle of Skype, and a laptop placed on a piano bench, family on two continents watched as well. The bride’s father in Siberia, and the groom’s daughter in England had front row seats for the entire ceremony, and then were taken throughout the house (the laptop weaving room to room by whoever picked it up next) so friends and family could say hello and raise a glass during the champagne reception. It was a marvelous adaptation to a difficult situation – family unable to attend the wedding, and it pulled the family together for an important moment.

To plug in, or unplug – another opportunity to reflect on what suits you and your intentions for your own wedding day.

I was driving back to Canmore from the city last week, and offered this young guy a lift. Mid-twenties, smack in the middle of that time of life. A long-term relationship just ended, with new job choices to make, he was heading to collect his damage deposit, his car, and the last of his belongings. About to move away from the town he and two generations before him had called home. He said he felt like he had just jumped off a cliff.

It was one of those precious September days; clear, warm, and more summery than any day in July. Sun poured into the car, and we opened the sunroof to enjoy the heat soaked breeze. It didn’t feel like fall, there was no crisp impetus for change. The day begged for a return to a summer that was already slipping away.

My traveling companion had a stomach in knots. He felt like puking, he said. He acknowledged it was emotion roiling around in there, and he could even name it – grief, fear, worry, perhaps regret. No room yet for excitement or hope. It was as physical a manifestation as anything, and it hurt.

So we talked. Not about the big future out there, beyond the front ranges, or the wonderful potential waiting on the other side of the divide. We talked of the possibilities available in the next hour. This was his one and only day of departure. It was, it occurred to us, the symbolic threshold between his youth and a yet unimagined future. I wondered out loud what it might be like to create a simple ceremony before he left town. What it might be like to write down on a piece of paper, perhaps, one thing to let go, that has served up to now, and then release it into the river. The river that flowed east, away from the direction he was moving.

A range of emotion passed over his face, but I registered two things: surprise that comes from an unexpected and completely fresh insight, followed by the faint beginnings of a smile.

I opened the email some hours later. “I’ve just finished my ceremony,” it said. “It got my heart racing. It felt good. I watched the paper travel away and sink under the water. After that a big osprey flew by in front of me and skimmed the water and landed across the river from me. It felt symbolic. It was a beautiful experience.”

A simple act of ceremony, in a complex world.

It’s easy to make a suggestion. What’s harder is to act, to follow the goosebumps when they appear, and take the step of faith forward that roots us in the here and now. What’s not easy is to let go of the unknowable future, and return to this moment.

As I write this, on the very brink of launching a new business, and what is surely to be the next amazing chapter in my life, on another still sunny day in September, I have butterflies in my stomach, too. Wondering what, and who, I’ll meet across this great divide. Wondering if I’ll be up for the task. Worrying, and wondering and imagining what’s next. My mind awhirl with thoughts and to-dos.

My young friend said in his email, “thanks for everything”.

And now I am thanking him. For his willingness to step into an unfamiliar place. For the action he took that inspires my action today.

I’m on my way down to the river.