Somewhat shamefacedly, I have to admit that I love royal weddings. I know the Monarchy is a royalist and elitist institution, but I am a sucker for the magic of ceremonies that bring a community together. I love the parades, uniforms, the horse-drawn carriages, and Cinderella stories that immortalize love. I am a hopeless romantic.

It’s not just the pageantry of royal weddings, I feel this way about all weddings; two people coming together to make a public commitment to love each other in the good times and bad, to see in each other’s eyes what we like best about ourselves, and to know that together we are bigger than who we are alone.

This year was exceptional, not only the traditional pomp and jewels, but the palpable energy of a fairytale ending that brings a woman of color, not born to the manor, to become a beacon of hope for the modern world.

The British proudly gathered as Nation of many colors, costumes and creeds, standing together to acknowledge that even in these divisive times it is possible to acknowledge love is a force that brings people together.

It doesn’t matter that it cost the British public $30 million to provide for the security, what they get in return is incalculable. It costs the American people about $3 million for every Trump weekend to Mar a Lago; tens of millions more to provide for the security of Melania, Baron, Donald Jr., Ivanka, and Jared, for which we get no return.

I didn’t get up at 4:30 to watch the processional from the beginning, but I did sit in front of the TV with my breakfast looking at the pageantry that only the British can pull off, watching a Monarchy moving toward a more inclusive future.

I loved the show and the storyline; a descendant of slaves marries a royal whose forbearers supports slavery, An African-American Bishop and a gospel choir that sang the civil rights anthem “This Little Light of Mine” as the couple exited the chapel… it’s made for Hollywood.

Whatever else I am (physician, author, clown, healer), I am at the soul level a hopeless romantic.