“Yesterday is ashes; tomorrow wood. Only today the fire shines brightly”
A few days ago we got some very sad news. It was totally unexpected and very painful. That day I felt empty and rather lost, wondering what our next steps were going to be. It’s not often I feel this way. I struggled with rather deep depression as a youth, but have worked most of my adult life on the active pursuit of happiness and consider myself, on the most, to be a very positive and joyous person. But sometimes unexpected obstacles come our way and you’re forced to face sad things and experiences you would rather not.
I realize I’m rambling and not being very specific. This is a very personal issue and maybe one day I’ll be ready to share more, but for the moment the act of writing about my feelings are the best I can do. The point of all this is that it got me thinking about waiting for the perfect moment. We all fall into this trap, this idea that there will be a “perfect” time for something or another to happen, a “perfect” occasion, the ”perfect” combination of space and events. And as much as I try not to, I make this mistake too. These past few months things had seemed so “on track” that I fell right into that very daydream of perfection, only to have it all come crashing down in a single day. So that evening as I sat grieving I contemplated my life and decided to change my fate.
And for me that change came with the story of a bottle of wine.
You see we have a 17-year old bottle of fine wine (a Chateau Figeac 1995 – for wine connoisseurs you’ll that know that was a great year for Bordeaux’s) that we’ve been carrying around ever since I bought it for Paul’s 30th birthday many (many) years ago. It travelled from Belgium to the USA, sat in a wine cabinet for many years, and then transferred to our RV, all the while aging, refining itself and waiting for that perfect occasion to be opened.
Which of course never came.
Until a few days ago.
That evening I looked at my day and at that wine and decided the perfect moment was now. So with great ceremony we pulled out the bottle, opened it up and allowed the fine, liquid gold to flow into our glasses. Despite years of travel and neglect the wine had aged beautifully and it’s deep, rich bouquet opened in layer upon layer of aroma, like a flower unfolding its’ petals to the new day.
We sat back with our glasses, breathed in the soul of the wine and talked about everything that we’re grateful for in life. From the depths of a very dark day, I began to see the light and accept the fact that everything happens for a reason. The wine had been waiting for a long time, we had been waiting for a long time only to discover that the moment is what you make of it. It may still be some days before I recapture my usual bounce, but with focus and perseverance I know it will all work out. And although it may not seem like it, sometimes the perfect moment is now.
P.S. It’s a heavy post I know and rather cryptic too, but I appreciate being able to share these feelings on the blog. It’s all part of the healing process.