Yesterday, for a few brief hours, I thought that I would shortly be having an adventure; that I was going somewhere wonderful and would be doing amazing things. I fantasized about telling people about the cool things I’d done when I came back. I dreamed of the Facebook photos I’d post of these cool things in that cool place. Because Facebook is where you catalogue all the good bits. And omit the bad bits.
I prepared a checklist of what I’d take, what I’d leave. Would I need a haircut? Would I need a manicure? Would I need a facial? A wax? Brazilian or Hollywood (ouch)? Brazilian, definitely Brazilian. Would I need new clothes – oh, what and from where? Dared I imagine the prospect of new shoes? I did.
I wondered if I’d make a new friend or two. Would they be a forever friend, a fleeting friend, a fair-weather friend, a frenemy? Would we do drunken karaoke? Would they keep the secret of that guilty pleasure song I murdered like a cat strangling an out of tune fiddle? Would I save them from that sleazy man in the corner? Almost, but not quite. And if we just drank more, the memories would hopefully recede.
Would I be able to accurately crystallise a spectacular view in my mind or call upon my senses to recreate the experiences I was shortly to have? I didn’t know but I would certainly try not to take this gift for granted.
Then suddenly, the adventure looked doubtful, and by 4pm the adventure was off. And although someone would still be going on this journey, it would not be me. All at once, my world shrank back to its tiny, original size and my fantasies of spirit and flights of fancy were returned to that compartment we all have named ‘lost and found: hopes, dreams and superfluous thoughts’, locked away in our hearts.
But what an adventure those few hours of unfettered hope were. Sometimes, I unlock the cabinet and allow myself to stay there for a little while. For the respite.