Last October, my friend and I hopped into her car and drove down Highway 101 through Oregon. We had such a good week, and the photos which came back from that trip are fabulous.
There is one memory in particular that stands out in my mind as being joyful, serene, whatever. We had pulled off the highway into one the lookouts, and were just standing there, leaning on the railing, looking out over the ocean as the sun set. Nothing to say, no need to “ooh” and “aah” over the scenery, just drank it in like soul-wine.
When the light was almost completely gone from the sky, we headed back for the car, and found a van parked next to it with a couple of guys leaning against the van smoking. It didn’t occur to either of us to feel scared, we just said hello to them casually, they saluted us with their smokes, one of them called out “peace, man!” and off we went.
The CD we had been listening to was a Van Morrison compliation, and as we drove off, “Moondance” started. I hope I will never hear that song again without remembering that moment.
Nice thread. I have enjoyed reading your posts - thanks.
My contributions:
With family - special bonding moments with my wife, and with each of my children. When our guards are down and we have wonderful exchanges. Truly soul-satisfying. With my parents and sister, when we have good talks.
With friends - for some reason, when we have hard conversations about tough subjects, but have been so thoughtful and careful that we get all the issues on the tables and come out closer than ever. Only a handful of these, but worth it.
As an artist - playing guitar in a band with a drummer who toured professionally for 15 years and played Carnegie and Royal Albert Halls - he said I was a great front man (singer + guitarist). Then a record producer friend, who has produced the Cure, David Bowie and others, came up and told me how great we sounded, clearly sincere (we have since gone on to play together a few times). Since I never tried the pro musician route and always “wondered if,” this validation will probably stand as the most satisfying artistic moment in my life - I can always turn to that and think to myself “yeah, but when the chips were down, I was good”
As an appreciator of fine things - moments of clarity when I deeply, deeply “get” things - like Marvin Gaye’s What’s Goin’ On or Kind of Blue by Miles Davis, or paintings by Caillebotte, Pollock or Klee, or writing by Fitzgerald or Harper Lee. When I am in the zone where I am taking in the art and know - just know - that I am experience true art/beauty/emotion and how special it is.
Professionally - getting into a top business school; getting my job offer out of school, promotions. But probably most would be leaving my high-powered Career Track job to take the risk I am now - very very scary and there have been a lot of ups and downs - still don’t know if it will work - but, like with playing guitar, when the chips are down, I can look at this and say “hey, I took the risk”
I was 10 years old, and was walking home from the bus stop, reading Ozma of Oz. I remember the black asphalt of the sidewalk, and the fences round the yards of the council houses. Utterly happy, without a worry, for some reason.
10 was a good year for me. I think I peaked at 10.
Last June, my darling SO took me to Key West for my birthday. I wore a beautiful dress I picked up for a song at a boutique on Duval Street, and we had an amazing meal at La Te Da. As we ordered, the rain came down around us the way it only does in the tropics (we were sitting in a covered courtyard). We walked home in the misting drizzle with brilliant heat lightning on the horizon. Back at the Eden House, (highly recommended) we took a good bottle of wine to the glider near the pool and talked and drank as the rain came down again.
It was quite an evening.
Now, I have a great job, my wonderful man, my two cats, and my folks are happy and healthy. Yeah, now is good.
The summer of 1984 was my happiest time. I had just graduated High School, I had a car, some money for gas, and nothing to do but hang out with friends and listen to music. It was also the summer that I met my first love, David. I long for the lazy days of the summer of 1984.
February 1969 coming back from VietNam. The plane was full on the trip out a year ago. Started back only about 2/3 full. Had to stop at Yakota to fill up the plane.
I remember coming into McCord AFB and looking down at the muddy mess of the Kent valley. Gray, overcast and drizzling rain. Typical NW winter day. But I never felt more alive than that day (mixture of euphoria and guilt).
Everyone else was scrambling to get another flight out of there, but I was home.
Called my dad to come and pick me up and I remember riding up the freeeway to Seattle thinking cold, damp Seattle never looked so good.
By the way, IMHO if you know anyone coming back from Iraq or Afganistan I wouldn’t bug them with questions about Abu Ghraib or whatver. If they want to talk, they will talk. Meanwhile they will probably be preoccupied just trying to process their own experience. My dad asked me about My Lai, he couldn’t understand how that could happen. Had nothing to say. Couldn’t even explain my own experience (nothing heroic or even especially dangerous).
Sounds like a real downer compared with everyone else’s experience, but I tell you, I never felt more alive than when that plane landed.
I love this thread. It’s so interesting to see the different things that make people happy, from the mundane to the momentous. I have two.
The first night in my first apartment. I hated living at home, my father is abusive and living with him was making me sick. . . stomach problems, stress headaches, even a nervous breakdown. I was finally making enough money and my best friend and one of her friends were moving across the country to live with me, but I had a few days before they got there. I remember sitting on my new couches, watching a movie on my TV in my unpacked living room and realizing I was free. Stress and pain I’d been living with for years was released and I just cried.
This is a simple one. I was driving up to San Francisco on 280 with two of my best friends and one of their sisters. It was a Saturday in the summer, we had all the windows down and one of my favorite Indigo Girls songs cycled through the CD. We all started singing along, taking different harmonies and melodies, voices blending perfectly, though none of us is a singer. It ended and we all just sort of sat there, amazed at how well it had sounded. It was just amazing and a perfect moment.
Though I suspect I have a new winner coming up when I move into my own house.
As cheesy as it sounds, last week while I was in Alabama attending a Doper wedding. I was there for a week and just hanging out with them and doing a bunch of nothing might have been the most contented time I can ever remember.
9 years ago, I was 22 and had a good job and enough money to take some time off and travel across the USA from NY to LA, something I had always wanted to do.
One night we were in the middle of the Arizona desert, right in the middle of nowhere - nothing as far as the eye could see. We stopped for the night, had a big cookout, drank some beers, played music and sang songs (one of the guys with us was an excellent guitarist) and watched the sunset and the stars come out. What a sight, the sky never looked so beautiful at night. We all just slept out there, under the stars without a care in the world.