Just A Moment

How long is a moment?

Is it like a minute? A second?

In 2024, we will encounter over 500,000 minutes. A second? Well, that’s over 30,000,000. Do you remember every second? Every minute? Every moment?

To me, a moment is not quantifiable. But a moment is memorable. So, how many moments will we experience in 2024?

I’d like to describe one such moment, but first, 2024.

Happy New Year! New year, new me! New Year’s resolutions! Woohoo!!!

These sentiments, things we all say, think, plan, say we plan, whatever, are more aligned with the past me. The me before the big C.

This year, entering into a new year, clinking glasses on New Year’s Eve, was so weird. Of course a new year is unknown. A new day is unknown. But I’ve never before entered a year knowing there are hard, unpleasant times ahead. Next week, I will be meeting with my medical oncologist to chat chemo. The following day, I will be meeting my radiation oncologist to chat radiation. If you’re tracking, that’s three oncologists currently on my team. And counting? Maybe.

How am I going to deal with that? Bottom line, I don’t know. Dealing with anything is both physical and mental/emotional. Sometimes the physical part is hard. Sometimes the mental/emotional part is hard.

I was able to push off the hard things 2024 edition using distractions. Good, meaningful distractions, but distractions nonetheless. Christmas was a great distraction. My family and I went to our favorite tree lighting, to the symphony, strolled around admiring Christmas light displays…we did all the fun things. Then it was New Year’s. Then we escaped to Palm Springs for a few days.

This is where my moment comes in. As I said, I do not think a moment is quantifiable. I do think a moment is memorable. And unlike time, which keeps marching forward (trust me, I’ve tried to find a pause button or a circle back button), moments can be revisited whenever we need them.

While we were in Palm Springs, I had a moment. And in that moment, I was consciously aware that this was one I would revisit. To feel warmth. To feel joy. To feel hope. 

It was mid-morning in the porcelain-tiled living room of our mid-century modern Airbnb. To the right of the giant window, which overlooked the pool, sat a white, only-works-in-Palm-Springs, Christmas tree. To the left roared a fire in the gas fireplace. Dressed in my pj’s and cozy socks, coffee in hand, I was sitting on the white leather couch. A book, doesn’t matter which one, rested on my lap. The only sounds were of my children in the pool. Laughing and splashing. The threat of rain mattered little when given the opportunity to enjoy a heated pool. Cool outside, cozy inside. 

In this moment, I did not think about upcoming appointments. I did not think about past surgery. Maybe I even forgot about cancer. It was pure joy. Not the elated, overly excited kind of joy, but the settled-in comfortable and totally content kind of joy.

Do you have a time like this? A time you can feel? Smell? Hear? One that always makes you smile? Warms your heart?

Evermoving and relentlessly linear, we can neither pause time nor circle back. 

But we can close our eyes.

Revisit.

Just for a moment.