Back in October, a day or two before I left for Europe, I went for a little walk with my sister-in-law and her baby son. He was just about to hit 4 weeks, and she was telling me about all the big changes that were on the way for him: smiling, seeing better…um…other things…I don’t know, ask her, she’s the child psychologist.
But it was kind of bittersweet for her to know that, for all the cool new things that were on the way, her kid would never be like this again. We reflected a bit on the fact that even if something is perfect now, it can change – dramatically, over and over – and still be perfect. Or attain a different sort of perfection, anyway.
That conversation was echoing in my head as I left my beloved home and all my dear friends in Toronto and took off for pastures new. It was still echoing in my head when I found myself in England, walking the stunning Jurassic Coast.
Every single day of that trip presented a succession of perfect moments, all perfect in different ways (interspersed with imperfect moments, of course, which are part of the experience). I so often found myself thinking, “I wish I could stay right here, in this moment, forever.” Then I’d sigh, turn my back, and keep walking (and probably take a ridiculous selfie at some point in there). And then I’d find something else that would make me think the same thing all over again. Significantly, I would never have experienced each successive perfect moment if I hadn’t moved on from the one that had come before.
I had wished that I could stay in Toronto forever. Then I wished that I could stay in Dorset forever. I wish that I could stay in Europe forever.
In a month or so, I’ll be living in Calgary. I’m not overly enthused about this move, as everyone who knows me has already heard ad nauseam. But I guess I can never find the next perfect moment until I sigh, turn my back, and move on from this one.
[More European adventures to come in the meantime, at least…]