When I was a senior in college, I remember how my roommate used to laugh at what had become a favorite line in my Friday night ritual.

Long before texting to firm up plans became the norm, my boyfriend at the time, a smart but non-academic type (i.e., pothead), would contact me on the shared phone in my dorm suite.  He’d confirm a meeting time, maybe suggest meeting at the Downtown Lounge then going out for catfish and shooting pool at a townie joint, then going back to his place.

He was a young man who liked routine, spoke few words and didn’t show a lot of outward enthusiasm. He also lived off-campus, a rarity at the midwestern college I attended.

Although I was not very confident, certainly not adept at flirting, I’d end our conversation with a sort of pronouncement, as if extra excitement on my part could make up for his lack.

“Prepare yourself to be delighted.”

What a funny thing to say. It seemed especially odd considering who I said this to. I was trying to drum up anticipation that I’d make excellent company for the evening.

I recalled this recently as I walked in my neighborhood. There’s a lilac bush I pass by often. For a few short weeks in the spring, I’ll stare at it in full bloom stretching out in a small front yard.

I know I’m approaching it maybe twenty or thirty feet before my eyes know to look for its delicate flowers beyond the fence because I can smell its fragrance.

Not usually keen on sweet scents, for some reason, the scent of fresh lilac is pleasant to me.

Maybe I have a fondness for the subtle color too.

Maybe lilacs were perfectly woven into a centerpiece at a memorable event or maybe a favorite kindergarten teacher splashed on a perfume with the scent, and I relished taking a whiff of it when she paced the open room before nap time.

The smell of lilac reminds me of what is best about spring. It’s a wonderful gift of nature, at its best for only a short time. It’s subtle (in hue), yet unmistakable.  No other flower smells like it.

I’m big on the idea of taking pleasure in the moment. Yet, I really appreciate how the sense of anticipation can lend to experiencing the connection in a string of moments.

I cherish the stillness of an early morning walk where I turn off a busy boulevard and find myself on a residential street of small front lawns and various styles of fences.

I love how the scent of lilac starts to fill my nostrils in advance of seeing the bush. For a few moments, I don’t know or care where I am. I only know that I am full of lilac, the smell of lilac.

I appreciate noticing how the fragrance grows stronger up until the point where I find myself in front of the yard that contains the bush.

I smile when I see the wrought iron fence around the yard, as if it’s protecting something precious. The lilac bush is precious, no doubt, but the fence does little to hold the scent in.

And when I continue my walk, the bouquet becomes fainter. I hold on to the memory of the seconds just before I arrived.

Then…I start looking forward to passing this house again tomorrow.

Understanding that being in the moment does not preclude enjoying anticipation is no small thing.