WHEN TIME LETS YOU GO

Cowichan Bay

Have you ever had one of those days that are just perfect, but you can't really put your finger on why? It starts the moment you get up. The coffee is ready, your favourite mug is right there, and you see that gourmet dandelion honey you just bought from the honey farm sitting right there on the table.

Your shower is hot (our hot water tank is on its last legs, so the temperature is often dodgy), your hair behaves, and when you look in the mirror, you don't see the old hag you typically do. Instead, a pleasant face stares back at you—one that looks relatively well-adjusted and, dare I say it? A little serene.

You start to think, "It can't last; the mirror is dirty," but then you catch yourself. So you shake your finger at your subconscious mind and try out one of those positive affirmations the 'laughing-all-the-way-to-the-bank' wellness gurus tell you to recite. So you do, and obviously you feel like an idiot, because saying “You are Enough” is ridiculous when you know there’s so much more you could do/be/say/give, but today you just laugh it off because you are in the zone. At least, that's how it feels.

Your day is nothing special. Just an ordinary one doing ordinary but necessary things: laundry, paying some bills, dog walking, a little writing, and grocery shopping.

Buying groceries, you're on another plane of consciousness—you find everything you need, the sales are tailor-made just for you, and you get your favourite checkout clerk, sharing a hilarious conversation about high-thread-count cotton sheets with her.

You drive home along the back road, the one that runs parallel to the ocean and winds through the village in the bay. Windows down. Hair up. Liz Phair's Go West (hello, 1994!) randomly popping up from a long-forgotten playlist on your phone. Coffee, vanilla, and salt air drift into your car.

An old man walking a geriatric black dog waves and flashes you a hundred-watt smile. Your left arm, bronzed and loose, hangs out the window, keeping time with Liz on the side of the car door.

And you want to keep driving, though you don't really know why. Or maybe you do. Maybe it's because in these moments, time isn't a thing. It's let you go. And you can't remember the last time you felt so a part of… everything.

You know you'll chase this feeling now, which will ensure you don't get it. Because it isn't about the chase.

It's about being still enough to notice when it happens.