How to Have a Romance with Life
The sunny, hot weather had dried up the water, and a usual Class III — IV river had dropped to a fun bumper boat ride. The boulders, normally hidden deep below the raging water created beautiful rock gardens that needed to be maneuvered quickly and precisely, as I followed the flow of the river through the maze.
Without the normal consequences of possibly being flipped, since I could put my hand down on the river bed and right myself, I was able to bounce along in my white-water kayak, crash against the rocks, spin on top of their shoulders, and play within their waves without fear.
A large grey heron, trying to fish, didn’t enjoy my presence. Each time I came close he flew to the next garden and became statuesque on the highest rock.
The sky suddenly became dark, and downstream an eerie mist rose from the water creating a beautiful fog. The clouds opened and the rain came down as I watched the wall of droplets moving towards me.
I laid back on my kayak, as the warm water fell across my face and I stared at the river alight with diamond reflections. The Egret took flight, its long wing span shimmering in the rain.
It was the perfect moment to collect in my heart, to imprint upon my being — a romantic interlude with life and nature — the pure bliss of being alive.
I laughed when I thought about the guilt I’d felt earlier that day for being irresponsible and not working. How silly was that thought when this moment perfectly wrapped from life itself had been waiting for me.
I’d been taught that life is about the goals reached, the items checked off the Bucket list, outward appearances, accomplished tasks, and how I loved others or who loved me. There was a time when I marked my worth by boxes that I needed to fit within. I believed I could do anything if someone wonderful loved me, and I believed my life had less worth if I wasn’t in that relationship. My worth was what I could give to others, and what I’d accomplished. It was what was in my bank account. Yet at the end of my life, what would these things really matter?
It’s the collection of the perfect moments, the ones where I feel romanced by life itself, by the earth, and the innate majesty of a universe that is in constant creation of beauty, that I know my true purpose — to experience life’s romantic beauty — not just with another person, but between myself and creation. These moments can’t be planned. They can’t be tasked out or put into service. They are precious gifts from life — one lover to the other.
When I collect these perfect moments, and savor them in my heart, when Ie seek them out instead of trying to fix problems and find solutions, everything becomes perfect just as it is.
When I come to the end of my life, whenever that may be, I want to know that I had the deepest romance with life that I could have, that I sucked out the marrow of every possible moment, and my collection was so wide and deep with joy, that I never had one regret.