Snapshot Moments

Recently, I interviewed my best friend while preparing to write some sections of her wedding website (just a service I offer). I asked her when she knew that she liked the guy she will soon marry. She listed two distinct moments: one, when walking together on a sidewalk, he switched to walk on the side of the traffic; the second, when taking shelter in a cargo truck during a storm, he warned her not to touch the metal parts of the truck. While these moments alone do not make up their relationship entirely, they are almost tangible.

I love moments like that. Times when you could almost take a snapshot and point to it later, saying, "There! That's when I knew!" I can remember times like this in my own life.

The moment I realized my dreams of Broadway would never come true--I was singing out loud to Amy Grant when my mom asked, "Can you not hear that you are off-key?" I could not.

The moment I understood exactly where I stood with my director this past summer--he handed me the coveted golf cart keys. To me, those keys meant he respected me. I didn't even tell him I'd never driven one before.

The moment I knew my friends and I were "grown ups"--when saying goodbye one day, one of my guy friends told us to be careful driving back to school. Kids don't tell people to be careful.

But there are other times in my life when I cannot pinpoint a moment. There are no snapshots, not really even video. These realizations are more gradual, taking place over a long period of time, and more privately, perhaps.

I don't know why I decided to go to Union University.

I don't know how I became a writer. Or why I know I must write.

I don't know when I made most of my closest friends.

I think whenever it comes to big life moments and decisions, I hope for a snapshot moment. I hope that there is something tangible that I can look at and say, "That, that right there is how I know." But maybe I'll just keep going and one day will look back and say, "I don't know why I'm here."