Like most things the anticipation was worse than the event. The return was fraught with worries about ruining it. Taking the good, trying to do too much, capturing another year in a four-day stretch.
But the return is
also filled with things to do, meetings to attend, work to get done.
There is a
familiarity. I find my Oyster card in the bottom of a desk drawer.
I write down my Barclay's bank card number on a piece of paper in my
wallet. I find my meetings by walking down vaguely familiar streets that come alive with memories as we pass a pub. Like college campus after a long time away I re-discover places I once knew.
I stumble on new treasures. If there is time I find a new path.
And then there is
a trip back to the swim club where so many nights were spent. The smell
of the chlorine, the wood in the coffee shop brings me there again. I suspected I would be sad, but I'm not. My heart fills, like seeing the
kids after they've been away at camp for seven weeks. A friend from long ago. I am glad to be
there and the happiness lingers.
When we first
returned home the cold water of life had the potential to ruin all the good
from the previous year. The memories and moments soaked by the
frustrations of day-to-day suburbia. The return brings them back to life
and reminds us of how we lived and how we were happy with less space and more time.
