I went camping last week at my childhood friend’s childhood camp. Another camp friend of hers joined and together they sang songs, reminisced, shared infuriating riddles over camp fires, and guided us around. I loathed every camp I ever went to (there aren’t many) but felt as though I could have replayed this night endlessly, sleeplessness and all. I felt like I was being let in on a big secret sharing this sacred space with them.
Afterwards, I texted: “Keep thinking about this quote and how much I felt this way while creating a makeshift home in a place that feels like home for both of you last night! “Somehow she knew that you didn’t get many moments like this in your life: moments when you knew, without any doubt, that you were alive, when you felt the air in your lungs and the wet grass beneath your feet and the cotton on your skin; moments when you were completely in the present, when neither the past nor the future mattered. She tried to slow her breathing, hoping somehow to make this moment last forever.” – Neil Gaiman.“