“Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.” Joan Didion

I remember asking my grandma if she thought it went quickly, this living. She laughed, partially in agreement, but mostly, I think, emitting you wouldn’t even believe it if I told you. I suppose only the tiniest part sinks in. The part that urges us to get closer. Gravitate toward this comfort. This moment. 

I saw it happen in real life recently at my French family’s reunion. They hold it each summer on Napoleon’s birthday. It’s basically a sea of cousins now. Mothers and fathers passing. Aunts and uncles too. There was an audible oooh, that eased into aaaah, as she arrived. Perhaps the oldest cousin, coming from the furthest distance. Of course they were happy to see her, but it was more than that. As she held court center veranda, I watched them gather. Women sure, but grown men too. Thick fingered, guarded men gathered. Bent down to get closer, as if still with the knees of youth. The long table was being set. We all, for just a moment, tried to capture the speed of August.

September is winking. I’ve had perhaps my last swim of the summer. You don’t really know it mid lap. But it was a good swim. And I’m grateful. And maybe that’s the only way we slow it down. This gratitude. It catches me. In a moment of happiness.