Perfection
I believe I have, by happy chance, stumbled upon a perfect moment.
The evening thus far has been one of those famously orgiastic Friday nights that have characterized my weekends of late, involving an uneventful dinner with friends, a bit of television, and a soak in the tub. Shocking, I know.
But as I sat here with a tumbler, it started to rain.
Fat, thick drops of rain course earthwards, only to splay themselves against the walls in an endless, formless rhythm. Gusts of wind rattle the window panes, occasionally whistling through a gap to breathe a final, dying gasp into the room. A sip of whisky wends its glowing way past my heart as the rest swirls back down into the glass, trailing amber fingers as it goes. A thoughtful melody rises slowly against the rain and the wind, and everything melts rather sheepishly into a soft-focus background.
I have innumerable stressors on my life, as does everyone around me. Events beyond my control are pulling me in several directions at once, not to mention a growing dissonance between my self and my perception of the same. For many others I know, their issues are vastly more concrete, immediate, and substantially less manageable. I worry about them too, even virtual strangers, which I readily admit is a fairly serious character defect.
But for now, I can sit here and savor this one moment. I have a warm bed, a whole day in which to worry tomorrow, and absolutely nothing to concern me right now. It is not ecstasy by any measure, nor what I would call happiness, exactly.
But, for a moment of quiet reflection, this will do just fine.