I was showering this morning and trying to think of something to blog about. (I was also singing The Killers “All These Things That I’ve Done.”) Ideas would pop into my head and then quickly get rejected.
While lathering, rinsing and repeating, I narrowed it down to two choices.
The first was a “where are they now?” about an actress who was on two or three episodes of a well(ish)-known sitcom a decade or so ago. (Which I may do at some point.)
And the second idea, and the one I chose, was…
But, not the depressing kind.
Or the scary kind. You know, with boogiemen and the like. (Even though I AM totally opposed to boogiemen.)
I am talking about the darkness you first discover as a child.
For me, it was while playing hide n’ seek. The game would begin just before dusk. You could see everything and had to be super sneaky about where you hid. Or just fast enough to race whomever was “It” back to homebase. But, at some point, things would change.
You were too busy to notice it happening. But, as you were hiding and trying to remove the pickers that were stuck to the butt of your pants, you suddenly realized that it was dark out.
The world had changed. It had gotten a lot smaller.
Urbanites may have never experienced this before. But, anyone who grew up someplace rural knows what I’m talking about. Suddenly your entire world seems to have a radius of about twenty-five feet. And everything else has faded to…
As you get older, and start driving, you forget about this sensation. Headlights constantly expand your world.
While occasionally you’ll find yourself on a beach at night with a cute lass, you’ll really have other things on your mind.
But, if you are very lucky, you’ll get to experience it again as an adult.
You are walking back from someplace at night with your (now ex) significant other. The first thing you notice is that late night silence. Without the usual stimuli battling it out for your attention, you notice that little lilt to her voice again. She laughs and you think, “Man, I forgot how great that sounds.” You hold her hand and really notice how it feels. You give it a little squeeze and she looks at your quizzically.
You feel like stopping halfway home and waiting for King Harvest’s “Dancing in the Moonlight” to ring out from the cosmos, so you can swing her around a little in the middle of the street.
You want to hold her and stare up at the millions of stars spread out across the night sky. You want to capture that image which makes you feel so insignificant, yet on top of the world at the same time.
You want to do all of that, but you don’t. Even though you know that it is certainly one of “those moments.” The kind that stay with you.
You keep walking home.
As you open the door for her, something inside yearns to keep feeling that feeling. Even though in minutes you’ll both have brushed your teeth and be wrapped around each other in bed.
It’s not the same.
If you do find yourself in that moment, try to make it last as long as you can. The simplest ones are the hardest to recapture.