I've been thinking all weekend about perfect moments. You know the kind--when things don't seem as though they can get any better than they are. What's continually amusing to me is that most of the time, you don't realize that those moments are perfect until weeks, months, years, or decades later.
I've been pushed to think about those moments over the last several weeks, most memorably at a lunch with my friend and her new husband. He decided he wanted to ask me everything about the last person I was in love with.
"Why do you think it didn't work out with him? What happened? Do you think you could have done anything differently?" he asked.
"What does it matter? He gets married in a week," I retorted.
(I thought about the moment after my first conversation with him. That moment was perfect. )
"Well, we were talking about this whole thing on our walk here to meet you. It's only fair that you know."
"Well?" he asked again.
"What else can I say? It didn't work out," (and I was so incredulous that I didn't know what to do.)
And so the subject was changed to my search for an apartment.
What I failed to think about was the time I spent driving across town from Columbia Heights to Capitol Hill. The weather was beautiful; there wasn't a cloud in the sky and I was listening to NPR and not thinking about anything in particular.
That moment was perfect.
So, thanks for reading the last post of the Culture Wars. I think it's time that I go out in search of some more perfect moments.