Past Lives

I saw a picture today of a girl I've known for a long time but haven't seen in years. It was of her and her husband. A casual close up, heads together ~ you know the kind where you stick out your arm and click ~ of them sitting on the couch, not even trying to impress. And they looked so contented. Like when you've just discovered that comfort zone of the person you love. All awkwardness has left the newness of marriage, you've settled into a rhythm and you don't need to be anything but yourself.

And I suddenly found myself remembering that very thing. That place where it's not new anymore, but you never want it to end. You still want everything about that other person. Their body, their mind, their future. We were like that. We were sitting on that couch in our grubbed out clothes, snapping pictures. Then crawling into bed every night, unable to get enough. Idealistic about whatever the next part of life would be.

In the last 20 years, we have had much to be 'contented' with and much to be grateful for. My thoughts of us as a couple always bring me to one of two images. First, a little basement apartment we shared in Fredericton during our last year of university. In many ways we had separate lives. He was in science, I in education. My buildings were at the top of the hill and his at the bottom. Our schedules were never even close to being the same. But every night we fell asleep in a broken down double bed that never seemed to lack for space ~ probably because we were happier on top of each other than beside ~ in a dark little room. I can still see the smallest details in my mind's eye.

The second, was our unfurnished apartment in the tiniest of towns, Port Alice, on the very west coast of Vancouver Island. It was our first heart-pounding adventure, all grown-up and on our own. Thousands of miles from anyone we'd ever known. We were broke-broke! Sleeping on the floor until much later that summer when we managed to scrape enough cash to buy a bed at the Bargain store and a second hand sofa from a neighbor who was upgrading. I wasn't working (just putting out endless resumes). I came close to reading every book the small public library had to offer. It was that summer I first fell in love with Wayne Dyer, having read Your Erogenous Zones and being awash in awareness that it was changing my life with each turning page. Each night I waited for Jeremy to be done work, so excited to see him. To meet with the new friends we were making. To hold onto every moment of beauty around me ~ the mountains, the inlet, the future that had become our now. Those were really really good days.

Our lives ~ all of our lives ~ hold such abundance. Life is a ride that moves quickly, do it with courage and joy. Remember often the reasons that you fell in love.