Reliving a Sweet Moment

If you allow it to, one sweet moment can keep giving joy. I first learned this when I was writing my book, “Small: The Little We Need for Happiness,” and I have been rediscovering it ever since. The trick is to remember how powerful reimagining such moments can be—and then of course to practice.
Thursday is our afternoon with our six-year-old grandson Lucien and his identical twin brothers, Idris and Quincey. Last Thursday we walked to a local park, the six-month-old twins in the stroller, Lucien on his bike, racing ahead of us, then stopping at the end of each block to await our arrival. Once this routine wore out its welcome, he demonstrated how well he can now ride with one hand. “I’m working on riding with no hands, but I can’t do that yet,” he told me.
At the park, the twins played on a blanket we spread on the grass, while Lucien spun on the spinner, allowing one arm to trail behind him and leaning as far over the side as he dared. We had forgotten to include a children’s mask, so we couldn’t let him play with any of the other children, even though he was tempted. Luckily, Stephen noticed a burned-down house across the street, and he and Lucien walked over to investigate.
My point here is that nothing extraordinary took place, and that I had limited interaction with Lucien. In fact, I felt bad about the outing, and made a mental note to plan the next outing around him–and to be certain to remember a mask. Shortly after we deposited everybody at home, I had to leave for my Zoom choir practice.
Later that evening, Lucien and his mama, Amelia, called me via Facetime. “How was choir practice, Jam?” Lucien asked.
“It was great. Thanks for asking,” I answered.
“While we were having dinner,” Amelia told me, “Lucien said he wondered if you were having a good time singing.”
“And mommy said we could call and see, but I told her not to interrupt you.”
“That was very thoughtful, Lucien,” I told him.
“We were sitting at the dinner table,” Amelia said, “and I asked Lucien if he were thinking about you.”
“I told her yes.”
“That makes me so happy,” I exclaimed, my insides now like warm custard. “I’ll remember this when I go to bed, and I bet I’ll have the sweetest dreams.”
I did remember the conversation as I was falling asleep. And I did have the sweetest dreams. And now, a week later, I continue to think about that phone call. Every time, I do, I am infused with joy.


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