Moments

Life seems to be full of moments, and most of these we just pass by without a second thought. The moments where you check the mail, pull a pizza out of the oven, or catch the bus are forgettable. The moments when you win a championship, ace a test, or cash your first paycheque are probably more memorable. But what about moments that we shouldn't remember, but do?

I have a few moments that stick out to me, ones that have stayed with me in my mind. These moments don't represent achievements, victories, or monumental instances. I'm not sure what my memorable moments represent, but maybe I'll find out.

I'm sure I have many of these moments, but the only ones I remember distinctly have happened in the last year or so. Possibly this is because I have only begun trying to hang on to these moments instead of letting them pass by.

The first one I remember happened when I was driving from Erik and Minke's house in Waterloo to Mom and Dad's in Stratford. It was night, and I was driving along the Amulree Road towards 119, away from Waterloo.

It was February 2008, and Erik and Minke had been married a week or two previously. I was home for a few weeks to attend the wedding, a happy respite from my time as a kindergarten teacher in China. The Middle Kingdom had not been kind to me during the first half of my one-year contract, and I was not terribly excited to go back.

The moment happened as I was listening to English radio, (I don't remember what song) driving in the dark with no other cars, and being perfectly content. Right then, I was happy to be driving alone in the dark. I wasn't too excited about getting home, because that meant I was one step closer to China. I was happy to be alone in the car, surrounded by darkness, in Canada.

That moment sticks out to me as one where I was perfectly content in a singular time and place. I wasn't in a rush to go anywhere, I wasn't thinking about anything, I was just driving along in the dark. It was peaceful and I enjoyed it. I knew my life was going to get extremely complicated and stressful when I got off the plane in China, so I was happy to be calm, cool, and collected as I drove through the dark, quiet countryside.

My second memorable moment happened this summer while I was out for a run in the Old Grove. I was heading towards Dunn's Bridge, with the river on my left. I was about three-quarters of the way there, where the path is narrow, less maintained, and runs very close to the river. It was a good run, but when is started to rain it soon became amazing.

I wasn't prepared for the rain, but it came fast and hard regardless. I remember the dirt trail being half-coloured by the rain, while half of it was still try. I remember the atmosphere being really calm, and I couldn't hear anything but the rain falling on the leaves, into the river, and over the grass. I realized that I was really happy to be where I was, running. There was nobody else around, and the rain seemed to muffle everything else around me.

It was only me running on the trail, with wet leaves leaving blotches on my shirt as I ran. It turned into a downpour, and soon everything was soaked. But for a moment before that, I was in another place of extreme contentment. I remember ducking under a low, wet leaf, looking at the ground and thinking about how it looked, feeling energized and powerful. I stepped up my pace and continued on to Dunn's Bridge.

While that whole run was probably good, the moment I remember was just after it had started to pour. Nothing else seemed to exist; only the trail, the river, and myself. It was fantastic. I don't remember how long the moment lasted, but it was gone before I got to the bridge.

A third moment happened soon after I moved back to Whistler this fall. Again, it has to do with me being alone and content in my surroundings. I was walking home to Nordic from the Village, on the valley trail. It was dark outside, and the stars were out. It was a bit cold.

I came upon one section of trail that is bordered on both sides by steep out-croppings of rock, which had large evergreens growing on top. I remember coming to this section, and being surrounded by trees, rocks, and a starry night sky. There was nobody else around, and everything was quiet. I remember stopping on the trail, looking up, and seeing the stars blinking down at me, with the tops of the trees waving on the periphery.

As I was stopped on the trail, I lifted out my arms and closed my eyes, listening to the silence. It was fabulous. Soon, some people came around the corner talking, bringing my moment to an end.

When I read what I've written, and think about what I remember, I see that the moments I don't forget have to do with quiet solitude. Each time, I was alone and content in a quiet and still place. The common themes in my remembrances are silence and solitude.

This is good to reflect upon, as it shows me that my favourite places are quiet ones where I'm the only person. It would seem that I love this solitude and remember it in a different way than I remember other things. I think it'll be important for me to seek out similar situations, and that doing so may keep me from being too worried or caught up in the stresses everyday life.

I imagine that these moments aren't just about being alone somewhere quiet...I bet they happen in part as a result of the mental state I was in at the time. In all three instances, I can remember being stressed about the future. In the car driving away from Waterloo, I was worried about going back to China. Running beside the river in the rain, there's a good chance I was worried about the job interviews I had recently had. Finally, between the rocks and trees in Whistler, I was likely worried about employment, housing, and getting myself sorted in Canada.

I think it's time to start running again. When it's nice, I'll run outside. When it's not, I'll train at the gym on the treadmill. Hopefully I can find myself in one of these moments again soon, and keep everyday stresses at bay.