“Today’s homework assignment: In one hundred and fifty words or less, describe one of the happiest days of your life.”*
I’m a rich person to have a kind of option paralysis in the face of this assignment. It’s a day I’ve written of before, but it stands out in memory.
* * *
A day in deep winter, about two years ago. I recall only that the evening found me at the home of close friends. Dinner cooked by Adam with me assisting. Wine. A small gathering, we talked and enjoyed one another’s company.
Sometime after Midnight, I headed out into the cold. A walk of two and a half miles to get back to my home in the South Slope. Headphones delivering music and I barely felt the cold.
The day itself wasn’t one of the happiest of my life in a noticeable way, as it was happening. But in the midst of that walk an overwhelming sense of joy hit me like a wall of glitter. Felt like everything had healed all at once and I was the happiest person I knew. So I felt like the luckiest person, too, but “luck is a residual of preparation†,” and don’t forget it.
* * *
† From Oil Notes, by Rick Bass
Edited to add this link. The essay ranges on the sentimental side (#blessed— saccharin), but contains some solid reminders, some truth.
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 