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  • We woke up in the middle of the night to watch the moon dance along the ocean's surface. It sparkled and shimmied like I had never seen.

    For as long as I am in possession of my life's memories, this one will remain close, undisturbed by the passing days or flickering vestiges of time. There will be no fading of colors, no dog-eared corners, no melting windowpanes obstructing its integrity.

    The crickets, his presence, my camera atop three slender legs like an awkward creature of the night, the vast expanse of ocean and stars, the occasional headlights swirling around the bend, the distant boat no more aglow than a tiny firefly fading into the horizon's haze — they will all appear as crisp and clear as they did this April night when I saw everything I would ever need live for in just one moment.

    Is it possible we live our entire lives for moments just like this one?

    It's my impression that, in the end, our lives are made up of such singular moments. The lucky few bob to the surface like floating bottles drifting our oceans while most others descend into the abyss of the forgotten, never to appear again. It is one reason I keep a journal. It serves like a fishing net, catching the falling memories that would have otherwise slipped into the lightless depths.

    If I had to pick just one, and only one, at least so far as I have lived, this would be mine. For it was here, in Big Sur, I felt completely in love with the experience of being alive, so in awe.

    But who am I to guess that this is the one memory that will define my life on this dear planet of ours. I suppose that's what keeps us going — the possibility of future moments as beautiful as this one. And if I am lucky — no, if I continue to seek out such moments, doing what I love to do, my ocean will be filled with floating bottles dancing in the moonlight and I will be able to drink from them for the rest of my days.
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