I went to Europe when I was a teenager. We were in Paris on a Friday night and it was pouring rain. Rather than brave the weather, about a dozen of us piled into one hotel room and played cards all night. Well into the evening one of my roommates came to a startling conclusion. Flatly, she said, "Here we are: young and beautiful. A Friday night in the most exciting city in the world and we are hold up in a third rate motel playing BS and drinking Algerian wine from the bottle."

Strange how that stands out in my memory. I can't for the life of me tell you what we did that afternoon or the next morning. Life is made of moments, not hours, not days. Moments.