Highway

Every time I'm on the highway between Boston and New York, I remember the blues dance house party I went to with some friends from Olin - how we finished midterms, drove to Connecticut, danced all night... how the entire weekend I slept once, for a few hours in a closet that was exactly my height because the rest of the floor space in the apartment (all furniture stripped out to make maximum room for visiting dance buddies) had been claimed by sleeping bags, how we woke up the next morning and danced all day and through the night, with a break to walk out on the beach and fling our arms up to the sky, how it was around 4am when Kevin and Andrew and I took our last dances, piled into my Camry, gorged ourselves at a 24-hour diner, drove straight back to Boston, ran a 5k race for breast cancer research, drove back to school, and slept a blissful, blessed sleep, the kind of sleep you have when you are young and stupid and on fire and exhausted from a glorious sprint of living.

Some folks invest in order to make money. I invest in making memories. Memories I can relive and rewrite and retell forever.

At the beginning of Up, a lifetime together gets compressed into a wordless montage, and it's a life well-lived. What would the moments be for yours?