lucky (blessed)

Sometimes, we meet someone and it seems as if we've met them before.  At some other time.  At some other place.  Sometimes, a moment seems so perfect that you wonder how lucky you could be to experience it?  Sometimes, you wonder, if another moment could ever take its place?  Then, you wonder whether it was real?  Or just something you imagined?  Whether feelings could be that clear, that undeniable, and at the same time, that confusing and surreal? 

I know I've mentioned several times someone I hold dear to my heart.  A really good friend.  I'll call him Mr. Saturday.  I know it's embarrassingly unoriginal and uncreative, but I met him on a Saturday night, at a Halloween party (so maybe that part is a little more romanticized) many years ago, and when I told one of my very good friends about our unforgettable, sorta-strange encounter, I referred to him as Mr. Saturday since I could not remember his name (I know, another embarrassing confession).  But, I thought, I'll stick with the reference and call him Mr. Saturday.     

Anyhow, I had quite an indescribable evening with Mr. Saturday last week.  The best way I could describe it is by those questions I posed above.  You see, although I've known him for quite a few years, that evening, we talked as if we had just met and were excited to share stories of our lives with each other.  Then, at the same time, we talked as if we were two people who have known each other our whole entire lives.  There were many moments that night that just seemed perfect, synchronized, and sort of surreal.  Looking back, I think, I must be quite lucky (blessed) to have experienced such a connection with someone I care about.  It made me think of Charlie (and Sam) (hint: Perks of Being a Wallflower) - that that was what Charlie meant about feeling infinite.  Being infinite.  "... in that moment, I swear we were infinite."

I shared pieces of my life with Mr. Saturday that I haven't really shared with many others (unless, of course, they were a part of the memory, too).  I know I've been told many, many times, to never share sad stories.  But see, I've also always believed that the people you love should know who you are and where you come from, and should they love you in return, they will love the real you and not a figment of who they think you are.  For the first time, I didn't feel naked or vulnerable sharing my past with someone who didn't know about it.  Who didn't live it.  Who wasn't a part of it.  I felt safe.  And that alone, assured me, I was blessed.

You see, none of us have perfect lives.  And some of us have more imperfections than others, but I believe that it's what we do with those imperfections that matter.  "I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons.  And maybe we'll never know most of them.  But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there."  (Stephen Chbosky, Perks of Being a Wallflower)   

Sitting there with Mr. Saturday, sharing with him my imperfect past, my imperfect life, I knew, I believed, that no matter what happened from then on, I will be okay.  He will be okay.  We will be okay.  And that to me, made the moment perfect.  And made me lucky.  Blessed.  It was real.  Clear, undeniable, confusing and surreal kinda real.  Beautiful. 

Photo: lydiafairy