They don’t see the moment as something passing that they should enjoy to the fullest. They might think I’m overly enthusiastic and find that off-putting or whimsical or a quirk of mine they’ll tolerate, or something annoying they won’t tolerate, until the moment passes….
And then they become nostalgic and they only then let themselves see something special in that past moment, and suddenly they know that I had seen the special thing at the time, and that’s why I was so enthusiastic.
And then perhaps they call me, and they feel sorry for shrugging off the moment, but the moment is gone now. The special thing is in the past.
I am on to new special things in this moment. This rich, beautiful, amazing moment. Full of friends for the moment, or hour, or day, or month, or year, or decade, but friends for this moment and that’s all that matters.
The one who had run off in rather a huff stands outside now, seeing me in this moment and wanting in. I don’t know how to let them in. I just kindly tell them that the moment has passed, which of course, they already knew.
Their moment now is one of regret, and if I could say anything at all, I would say, “I tried to tell you.”
And they’d say, “I know you did.”
And it would occur to them how pointless it is to be standing there too late, looking back in time, when I had shown up to the moment with them — I had been there.
I chose my new direction based on what happened there, and because of that, this moment I am in is so much more. I would never go back, even if I could, because each moment gets better and better, and I don’t want to miss any of it.