Victoria to Vancouver

The challenge in describing any of life's great moments is in finding a way to do so without resort to cliche. Parting from a loved one, viewing spectacular scenery, the birth of a child; it's at these times our language seems a poor servant* indeed. The urge to relate these experiences to others is, for me at least, compelling, yet rarely do I find language fitting that hasn't been devalued by overuse. For example, the parting: heartbreaking, tearful, poignant, sweet sorrow. A mountain range: magnificent, awe-inspiring, dramatic, majestic. Ho hum.

What is it that drives us to capture and share these succulent droplets of time? After all, the experiences are hardly unique, and an account can not possibly recreate the experience with the order of intensity it first had. I wonder if it's not simply a statement of "this moment was sacred, this needs to be honoured", like a small shrine at a window into something higher than our mortal, everyday existence. And so they should be honoured as they are the reminders that our lives are fleeting, that people are precious, that the world is so much bigger than you, that your cellulite and mobile phone are not really worth the importance you give them. Odd that we should need to have our memories jogged on these points, really, but so many of us do, and often.

I've had a larger-than-average portion of magical time today; an eye-prickling, heart-wrenching, stomach-lurching, sighing, gasping banquet, in fact. So let me tell you, most emphatically: people are precious, our lives are fleeting, the world is so much bigger than you, your cellulite and mobile phone are not really worth the importance you give them.


*Or perhaps that's "master".