Maybe because I let go of perfection a long time ago, or maybe because perfect days are few and far between, when one comes along, I notice and bask in that perfection, and I am invariably reminded of Lou Reed’s “A perfect day”, a nearly hopeful anthem in the midst of his usual despair.
Just a perfect day
You made me forget myself
I thought I was
Someone else, someone good
What makes 24 hours stand out from other sets of 24 hours? Is the choice of actions and activities? Is it a confluence of complicity and harmony among the people you spend those hours with?
Sitting huddled under a blanket, on the coldest day yet, munching on the most perfect pizza.
Sipping overpriced coffee, at a fancy coffee shop, making fun of the pretentious barista and bantering with strangers.
Choosing the perfect panettone from a row of exotic and artisanal panettoni from all corner of Italy (chocolate, thank you very much, with none of the candied fruit bits).
Dragging to the car a Christmas tree bought from the saddest Christmas tree lot, where not even the cheerful carols could sweep the sadness away, and laughing all the way home.
Watching the most perfect movie, the one about dreams lost and dreams found and all the compromises in between.
Sitting on the sofa, hugging two needy dogs for warmth.
And going to bed pretending every day could be such a day. And wondering what stands in between average and perfection, and if it’s not just willingness and good intentions that can get you there.