A moment of perfect potential

I was talking to a friend a while ago and mentioned my theory of moments of perfect potential and how much I value them. He asked me to explain, which caused me to realize that not everyone thinks about these things (well, about most things) the way I do. So, I thought I'd illustrate this concept with one of my favorite examples.

Saturday night, nine o'clock or so. Paris. Stand about twenty yards in front of Notre Dame facing the Left Bank.

You can stay still and enjoy the amazing cathedral, the night air, the pedestrians, the relative calm in the center of the wonderful human swirl that is most of the city right then.

You can turn to your left and walk around the cathedral. The shadows show you things the daylight hides, and they evoke different feelings.

You can keep going left and walk into Isle San Luis, find a restaurant with laughter and lots of people, and you'll have a good meal in a place that will make you happy.

You can also walk straight ahead, dive into the mass of humanity congesting the Left Bank. Sure, a lot of the places are touristy, but it's the Left Bank, and if you open yourself to it you can almost drink in the history and the art that so many people have made there.

You can turn right instead, stop to gaze up at the Eiffel Tower in the distance and then proceed toward the Louvre and the Tuileries and on into the fashion district.

What you can't do is make a bad choice. Everywhere is wonder.

It's a moment of perfect potential.

Of course, such a realization invites more philosophical speculation: are all moments so perfect if we but open ourselves to them? Is that magic available everywhere, every moment? I don't think so, because too many places and too many moments present us with a choice among tough, unpleasant options, but I am sure that there are many, many more moments of perfect potential than we notice.

This one, though, this one is a sure thing.

Yes, I'm still yearning to go back to Paris.