The sun was still slumbering away somewhere in space as we rose to the cascading snow covering the land of Idaho. It was my 18th birthday and every ounce of me wanted to stay warm and snug in my blankets. The clock kept reminding me that it was four a.m. and as I made my way upstairs to the sound of squeaky boards beneath my feet I could smell the remnants of the firewood that had given up long ago.
Yet, slowly I began to get excited. There was something special about being the only ones awake. My best friends mom decided to take us out to have a special birthday breakfast just the four of us, as the rest of the household slept. So we made our way to Butter Burr’s and began to warm our faces, noses and the rest of our limbs to gain back some circulation.
We sat and ate our freshly made pancakes and sipped our warm coffee as we watched the snow descend, while the first glows of morning began to break through the heavy blanket of clouds.
And it was all so painstakingly beautiful that getting up at four a.m. was worth it.
I could’ve missed this moment. I could’ve missed this moment due to warm blankets and comfort. I realize that I tend to do this a lot in my life. I tend to miss moments because of laziness, insecurity and apathy, and surely this isn’t the way that it should be.
There are memories I wish I could’ve established with my parents, and sometimes it pains me to think that we don’t have memories of an island that consists of cannon balls and bon fires at night, or catching fireflies in the backyard. I would hate to reach the end of my life knowing that there could’ve been more. That there was a potential for a treasure chest to be filled to the rim of breathtaking memories which give significance and value to this time on earth, and a depth to to this human experience.
Don’t get me wrong there have been some good memories, but it scares me to think that my mind strains to think of one “full bellied” memory, and when I don’t I get choked up and think, God the story must get better.
I want to take trips with my parents and have crazy memories that leave coke running down my nose because of the laughter and the joy we are feeling, I want my parents to feel like their life was full of memories of us.
What stories are we telling to ourselves, friends, kids, wives, families, and husbands? What have we let slip by our fingers simply because of something so small like “we were too tired?” It sounds silly but its true.
For instance one night after a graduation dinner me and my flat mates at one in the morning decided to climb the hill in the park. This particular hill had an amazing view of downtown Sydney. This spur of the moment decision ended up being an amazing morning; we said goodbye to one of our flat mates and spoke of the moments that had shaped us as we watched the lights of the city dance like fireflies. After the tales were over we sat in silence-the only noise coming from the cars passing through the nearby highway, the raindrops began to trickle and began to blur the city lights as I asked beneath my breath, “Why didn’t we do this more often?” to which my friend responded with, “because its easier not to.”
Isn’t that the truth?
That particular moment brought us closer together and fostered many laughs-(especially since I ended up falling down the hill as we descended which was actually really funny) and it all could’ve been so easily lost. This memory wouldn’t of happened if we simply decided that it was too cold and too late at night to do so.
So this summer I want to live in these moments. In these moments that involve risk and discomfort because they all hold the power to become a great moment, memory and story. I’ll learn to let the quietness and occasional solitude reap contentment, and I hope to create more intentional moments with my family.
What about you friend, what story do you want to tell? What risks do you need to take?
All my love,