1979-the year of feeling completely free, undone, blown-away in love, living a blue haze of contentment, everyday was ours, being who I really was, independent again, full of hope, glad to be alive, beginning to trust my instincts and decisions, knowing my soul had found its mate.
Utopia? There is an ancient Greeks definition of that place: “eu-topos,” The good place and “ou-topos,” The place that cannot be. In my heart and memory I go there sometime. On a day like today. My ever-effervescent imagination sweeps me back-a flood of all the feelings rush over me like a wave, and the Greeks are right on the money! It is a glimpse into past and future, a taste and an emotion so huge that you tremble, laugh, cry, reach out for it. For a moment you have it, but like a sweet-dream, it slips away, sliding through your consciousness, at the tip of your fingers you might just feel it-silk-like and electric, but so, so softly and urgently it is gone.
The good place. The place that cannot be. I go there sometimes. Today. Utopia.
The precious child in the photo is the daughter of my best friend. Her mother and she have been bridges to “The good place” for me since 1979. They often challenge for me that it cannot be.