It was only a dream...

I'm not quite sure how my life keeps getting busier.

I've found it more and more important to take the time to enjoy the perfect moments to the fullest, as I truly believe they are the things that sustain me. They keep me from being completely overwhelmed when I start losing track of all the things I need to do and the places I need to be.

Last night, I had a dinner to attend in the city. Friday nights aren't usually the best time for me, as I'm exhausted from the week and usually just want to go home and collapse on my couch - but this was an important client event to which I felt I needed to go. I had some meetings downtown during the day anyway, so I just brought a little black dress and the accouterments with me in the morning as I left. A would spend the night with his dad.

It was a quiet sort of day, mentally. After the rollercoaster of the job interview and the board meeting the day before, I felt a bit subdued as I plodded through my to-do list. By 4:00, I had mentally checked out. I changed into my dress, put on some cute black heels, and threw everything into my car. I had over two hours before the dinner began, and I headed down Adams Street to meet my friend Greg for a few drinks.

I found him at a crowded little Irish pub full of young people skipping out of work early. The bartender was a cutie - he laughed heartily when I insisted that since I was dressed in a terribly girly manner, I needed to have a terribly girly drink. Greg shook his head and ordered me a blueberry cosmo, which fit the bill perfectly. We drank and talked for a long time - he seems to be doing relatively well, in spite of everything he's been through lately. It was good to see him.

At 6:00, I realized that I'd had three of the blue monstrosities, and I was drunk. I had to be at the dinner by about 6:30, and couldn't show up stumbling. I drank a glass of water, gave Greg a big hug, and decided to walk east in lieu of taking a cab. It would help tremendously.

The rain was still threatening, but hadn't yet started to fall. It was warm and windy, and the alcohol kept me from feeling the crunch of my toes in the pointy shoes. I made my way toward Millennium Park, where I sat on a low wall for a few minutes as my brain came back into focus. All that was left was a warm glow by the time I walked in, took a glass of wine to nurse for a while, and began schmoozing with the crowd.

I'd been in the building several times before - it's a gorgeous old Gothic gem right off of Michigan Avenue. My client's wife called me Carol all night, the manager of our banking team on the account never looked higher than my collarbone, I sat next to the banker I hate with the passionate heat of a thousand suns, and everyone at the table hassled me about how poorly the markets have performed this year (as if I control stock performance from a little lever in my office) - but I was unruffled. I maintained an uncharacteristic serenity throughout dinner, as I watched the lightning begin outside the stained glass windows. The ambiance of the room with its stone archways, high, dark ceiling, and view of the lake were enough to make everything okay. I did, however, leave as soon as dinner was finished.

As I stepped outside, the rain still hadn't arrived. It was 9:00, and I still had a faint alcoholic taint in my head. If I took a cab back to the office to pick up my car, it might not be the best idea to immediately get in and drive...so I decided to to walk the mile or so through the city, instead.

The wind was pouring down Monroe Street like a flood, but it was still quite warm. I started west through the nearly-empty streets, and was reminded of another night, several years ago, when I headed alone into the streets of downtown Memphis. There is something so liberating about the quiet of urban streets at night, when you feel as if you have almost the entire city to yourself. Last night, as in Memphis, I threw my head back, closed my eyes, and held out my arms to the darkness. I was alive.

After only a few blocks, it began to rain. It was a light mist, which didn't seem worthy of my umbrella. I thought about grabbing a cab, and decided against it. It was warm, and I would be fine.

Slowly but surely, the drops grew larger and heavier. I contemplated the umbrella again, but figured the wind would make things far too difficult. I kept walking.

After a few more blocks, even the panhandlers had scooted off beneath awnings and overhangs. They didn't bother approaching me. The few other people on the street were either wrestling with unruly umbrellas or running for their destinations. I refused to change my pace. I was over halfway there, and had no inclination to rush. I wanted to savor each second.

By the time I reached the river, I was soaked. My hair was plastered against my face, and my toes were developing wet blisters in the pointed tips of my shoes. My dress was drenched, and my umbrella still hung from the strap of my purse. But I was content with the world on a level that I simply don't have the words to explain. The smell of the city, the sound of the el trains, the glow of the lighted signs, and the hypnotic tapping of the rain all combined to make magic. The wind tossing my hair, the splash of passing cars, the flash of distant lightning...all both humbling and empowering, really.

When I reached the parking garage, I thought about grabbing my dry work clothes and changing back into them before getting into my car. I decided against it. I climbed in and pulled my hair behind my ears as I started the engine. With a smile, I rested my forehead on the steering wheel for a moment. My chin dripped rain onto my lap.

Then, suddenly, I was back in the real world. My night snapped back into its normal, predictable pattern. The moment was gone.

But this morning, as I placed my dress into the dry cleaning bag, I lifted it to my face. It still smelled vaguely of rain.

It made me smile.