One Day to Day One

What do you think about the idea of borrowing Zac Efron for an afternoon? I kinda like it. Strictly in the interests of getting things done, you understand.

In the charming 2011 ensemble film, New Year’s Eve, his character, Paul, helps Michelle Pfeiffer’s Ingrid tackle a list of things she’s been wanting to do. With a midnight deadline approaching, a trip to Bali becomes a visit to a spa; travelling around the world involves a giant globe. He takes some liberties. She has an adventure.

A little imagination, a willing accomplice, and suddenly a shy, timid woman who’s been waiting for things to happen “one day” is having a rather lovely time enjoying some “day ones”.

Perhaps you, too, have a few “one day” things tucked away. Learn to play the piano? Holiday in Japan? Take tap dancing lessons? Possibly all three, although tap dancing through a piano recital in Kyoto might be overdoing it.

These “one day” dreams can accumulate over the years. Some date back to a version of you who had fewer responsibilities and considerably more cushion in her knees. Others arrive quite unexpectedly. A woman at a party mentions that she’s learning Italian and you think, Ooooh. I’d like to do that.

Then one of the kids needs poster board, the dryer beeps, Aunt Sally calls about your mom’s birthday and the thought goes wherever all the other thoughts went.

Onto the One Day list.

It’s a comfortable place to leave a dream. You know where it is. You can take it out occasionally, admire it, imagine yourself doing it. Then put it safely back until circumstances are more accommodating.

After the kids have settled into their own lives. When work eases up. When there’s a little more money. When you have more time.

And sometimes those circumstances do change. The kids launch. Your working life shifts. There’s room in the calendar where someone else’s commitments used to live.

Your own dreams can take a moment to catch up.

It’s easy to get so accustomed to saying “one day” that you say it even when you’re free Thursday afternoon.

Of course, Thursday afternoon won’t get you to Japan. And a spare hour doesn’t conjure up a piano, much less somewhere to put it. There are practicalities. Budgets. Bodies. The small matter of having absolutely no idea where to begin.

However, I suspect beginning sometimes becomes rather more elaborate in the imagination than it needs to be.

Perhaps your picture of learning piano includes a gleaming Steinway grand, a cleared corner of the living room and an impressive new commitment to daily practice. Before you’ve even found middle C, you’re rearranging the furniture.

Perhaps you could consider one lesson first. Someone else’s piano. A chance to discover what happens when you put your fingers on the keys. There might be music in there. There might be a dreadful noise and a great deal of laughter.

Both sound like an interesting afternoon.

Japan could begin closer to home. An exhibition. A Japanese garden. Folding paper into an origami crane. Learning to make something you love to eat. A little encounter that gives your dream texture beyond the beautiful photographs.

You may still want the plane ticket. You’ll have something to enjoy while you save for it.

As for tap dancing, perhaps you know someone who’d be willing to risk an introductory class with you. Someone who can be relied upon to laugh kindly when your feet carry on independently of the instructions.

Coffee afterwards would seem essential. Possibly cake. Your feet will have earned a small thank-you.

I think that’s what appeals to me about Ingrid’s adventure: the willingness to accept a creative idea. To see what could be done with the day, the city and the company she had available.

You could have a little fun with your own list. Pick one wish that still makes you smile and find somewhere it might fit into the life you’re living.

An hour. An afternoon. A Thursday.

“One day” has held that dream for quite a while. Perhaps you could borrow it back for a “Day one” adventure.

Steinway optional.