As I pick up the book and examine the cover, memory of the first read flows through me. The excitement of the story unfolding, fresh and new…spending hours immersed in the writing, the images engendered…a sense of completion at the end washed away with a cold shower of reality pouring back. There is no re-capturing that feeling no matter how much the book is loved or how often it is a companion.
I stand in the pool watching the students and feel envy. They are overcoming fears, perfecting motions and experiencing a new chapter of their story. There is always more to learn or to master and life continually plays out but there is a sadness in knowing that I would have to move on to something different to regain that “first time” rush. I feel envy and am a little jealous.