As Good As It Gets

You already knew this, but today is the solstice.  That means there's as much sunlight happening today as I'm ever going to get this year (ignoring the fact that it's been rainy and cloudy all day).  This morning on my way to work, I found myself wondering what it would be like if the rest of life was marked this way.  I mean, what if, when you started out, Life handed you this calendar with one day circled in big fat red crayon and said, "This is the best I'm ever going to give you, kid, so you'd better learn to make the most of it."

Obviously we all have some expectations about days that will probably make the top ten list: graduations, getting married, the birth of our children, etc.  But what about the days where nothing extraordinary happens, but everything just *click* falls into place and you find yourself content.  Isn't it possible that one of those days will turn out to be the Best Day, and we'll never have seen it coming? 

A few years back, I had a conversation with my brother-in-law about the best days of his life.  He counts the day he was saved as the Best, and the day he married my sister as a close second.  Now she's pregnant, due in December, so I'm guess he'll soon be adding another day to his list.  Then, as now, I'm impressed by the certainty of it for him.

I'm not certain what my best day to date is.  In fact, I'm not sure I'd necessarily recognize my Best Day if it walked up and smacked me in the face.  I'm kind of obtuse that way.  I remember that feeling where everything just seemed to go right, but I couldn't tell you what days those were or what happened on them.  And maybe that's a good thing.  Maybe those of us who don't keep track of such things are gifted with a lifetime of Best Days, simply because we can't remember the others well enough to compare and contrast.

If you could know your Best Day, would you want to know?  Somehow this is more interesting to me than the old question of whether or not you'd want to know the day of your death, probably because there's the added question of what to do afterwards.  At least it's something to think about.