Pacific Nights

It was first snow today. I walked the path between the busstop and MIT and for those few minutes, I was acutely conscious of every sensation. I felt my hair surrounding my face; the soft kiss of the snowflakes on my cheek; the brush of my sweater against my skin; the gentle give of the lining in my boots; the bite of the cold in the air. I felt so alive.

I have been living on that high all day.

It was an ordinary day by any estimation. I played in the same orchestra with the same people that I did yesterday. I ate the same food. I read the same (interminable) Constitutional Law book. And yet, I did it all today with such an awareness and enjoyment of everything I was doing. It made me wonder how I hadn’t noticed these things all along.

Why don’t I always feel the pleasure of playing a C sharp that resolves to a B natural? Why don’t I always tear up as the choir sings accapella? Why don’t I always appreciate how good my sweater feels against my skin? How sweet it is to hear Mike’s sleepy voice on the other end of the line? How exciting it is to read the words of O’Connor and Kennedy and even Scalia, as they debate the doctrine that makes our country run?

I wondered today how I could have spent a minute complaining about boredom, when the Constitution is so interesting. I wondered how I could even think about calories when bacon tastes so good. I wondered how I could have thought of the cold as anything but positive, when it makes the snow that flirts with my cheeks so pleasantly, and when it makes the warmth of my (messy) dorm room feel so much warmer.

I know that when I wake up tomorrow, the sky will probably look grey again, my Con Law book will feel heavy, studying will transform back into drudgery, and I will forget how much I like the feel of cotton, denim and wool. I know this.

And yet, somehow I feel like the euphoria of today has changed me. I don’t think that I will ever quite forget it.

And I hope that I never do…