The idea of something being “just right”, I believe, is trivial and implausible. Like happiness, it’s all relative. Though I would wholeheartedly like to believe that these types of things are set in stone, I know that they’re not, and don’t promise myself things that I know will eventually fade or disappear.
But I like the idea of not knowing. Not knowing when you’ll find that “just right” moment again, like you had so many years ago. Not knowing what sort of circumstances will arise for you to feel that same sort of contentment, alignment in the universe, and that happiness with life itself.
If I had to choose, there would only be one specific time in my life which I would classify as “just right”: the summer of 2010.
Like all its seasons before, summer brought in hot, balmy weather. Though the humidity kept things at a steady almost-unbearable condition, I still spent most of my time outside anyways, knowing that summer is a short-lived experience in Canada.
I was in the last year of being a “teen” then, and at the time I desperately clung to my youth. Twenty seemed daunting, like I somehow had to grow from child to adult in the span of 12 months.
I’m 22 now, and most days, I still feel like a child. But I’ve learned that sometimes it’s okay. I know that even though I have much to learn, I have enough time in the world to work it out.
Having recently graduated from University, I know it’s assumed that I will immediately jump start my life: find a profession, start a salary, begin to save for an apartment or car. All “real person” things, I like to call them.
I figure it’ll be a natural though, crossing the threshold from child to adult. I just have to learn to be patient with myself.
I wouldn’t say that anything extraordinary happened in the summer of 2010, or anything out of the blue that would make the memory stick out like it has for the past 2 years. But I figure that’s what makes the moment so perfect; that it was a summer just like any other summer.
It was a simple, yet awestruck setting: a large lake expanding beyond the eye could see, trees lining its border, rocks delving deep within its murky liquid and resurfacing in small, and large, doses of islands. Clouds dotting the expanse of bright blue sky.
This was Mother Nature at it’s finest, and this is what set off my one “just right” moment.
I was up North at my cottage with my family. Years ago, my grandfather had built it in the hopes of bringing our family closer together. And, I believe, the cottage truly did that for us that year.
One day, Dad, Mom and I decided to canoe together to what we call our “secret spot”. It was an island located in the midst of two adjoining lakes, and the focal point for many cottages built around the perimeter, so there really was hardly anything secret about it, but I know that we named it just so it would seem ours.
It was a beautiful day. A strong breeze helped us glide easily across the water, and kept us cool against the sun which had raised to its optimum height, midway through the day.
With nothing to keep us occupied but the nature surrounding, all we brought with us were swimsuits, towels, and a couple of Milwaukees.
We spent the whole day on the island soaking in the sun, swimming, talking, and drinking. All worries and cares were thrown out the window. There was no pressure from school or work, no threat of sickness, no pressures of “real life”. In that moment we seemed infinite.
It was perfect. It’s my “just right” moment.
If I could, I would go back to that time, and relive it again.
Wouldn’t we all?