Sometimes I imagine myself many years from now, looking back on my life at the things I’ve done, the people I’ve met, the decisions I’ve made. What will I want to remember? What experiences do I want to provide my future self to look back on someday?
I intend to live an extraordinary life.
But what would that require? I’ve been considering that question for months, and this is what I’ve come up with: extraordinary lives are composed of extraordinary moments.
Of all the many fine reasons to travel, the one that stands out most sharply is the fact that traveling provides more extraordinary moments than not traveling. It generates more fireflies of memory, more moments that appear unexpectedly and that you carry on with you into the future as though you’re catching them in a jar.
When age has darkened my vision, I want my jar to be swarming with light.
I can’t begin to estimate the number of times in the last fourteen months that I’ve felt the sensation of catching bright, dancing moments in time. Crossing streets, wading rivers, tasting wine, watching, going, hearing, climbing, feeling… this trip could be presented most simply as an endless string of verbs, and every one of them is connected mnemonically to memories that will only fade away when I do.
There’s one last firefly of memory that I would like to share before signing off on this trip, so here it is, from two nights ago:
***
Brianne and I are walking along playa Hermosa, the beach nearest the place where we’ve been staying. For the first time in weeks, the night sky is perfectly clear. The stars are countless, and bright enough to remark upon.
As we watch, a shooting star traces a line of light across the sky. Air turns rock to fire. Then it happens again, and again. Don’t stare too long, you might run out of wishes to make.
We continue along the beach, and I happen to glance down at my feet. A half-second later, I’m giddy and shouting at Brianne, “Look down! LOOK!”
As we walk, our footsteps glow green for a moment and then fade. Bioluminescent plankton. Something else I’ve never seen in person, until this moment.
I scrape my hand across the surface of the sand, scattering it in a fan shape. Tiny green sparks, the way magic is depicted in movies, erupt acoss the surface and then disappear. I notice that only wet sand glows. The plankton must be in the water.
I walk to the shorebreak. A small wave crashes a few feet away and a sheet of water envelops my ankles. Instantly, the water is aglow with green sparks, a tiny nebula of life. I scatter the water the same way I scattered the sand, to similar astonishing results.
Another arc of flame streaks across the sky. The milky way looks thick enough to drink. As the light filled sea reflects the light filled sky, I remember a line from 2001, A Space Odyssey: “My god… it’s full of stars.”
The world certainly seems that way tonight.
***
Another firefly moment for my jar. Another memory for Old Man Me to treasure. In a world such as ours, you must work very hard to not live a life that is extraordinary. You must work very hard to keep your eyes shut tight.
Train station in Nha Trang, Vietnam, morning.