Lately, I’ve found delight in the unpredictable, in-between moments of life. Like a crack allowing light to seep into a dark room, there’s a fleeting, intangible something that happens to turn the ordinary into the extraordinary. I’d just returned to Gabon days earlier when my husband Brad mentioned he’d bought tickets to the Masquerade Ball on Friday night. “We can donate them if you’re too jet-lagged?” I shook my head. “I’d love to go.”

The ball was just as fun as I’d anticipated- a festive evening of mask-wearing, dancing, laughing with friends, and good food. But what left an impression afterward wasn’t the main event. It was a brief connection with a Bwiti man who wore spiritual makeup and played a small stringed instrument as the guests arrived. The words in his tribal song were incomprehensible to me, yet I was transfixed. His music momentarily transported me somewhere akin to that liminal space between dreaming and waking. That, I had not anticipated.

Looking back over our family photos of an enjoyable, action-packed summer, the most noteworthy memories were the ones unplanned and unexpected. Enthusiastic to share my love of London with my son on his first trip there, I packed in the tourist activities Ramsay had requested for our long weekend, to include fish and chips in a real pub and rides on the Tube, the London Eye, and a double-decker bus. We crossed bridges over the Thames on foot, explored the Tower of London’s jewels, torture chamber, and raven-crested turrets, and ogled the toys and food halls of Harrods (where he selected a piece of chocolate cake the size of a man’s shoe, which in the end, we couldn’t entirely devour).

Ultimately, however, our trip to London wasn’t defined by the main attractions. I shared my favorite paintings at the Courtauld Gallery with Ramsay, where we admired “The Angler,” by Seurat. (Rams loves fishing). But it was the stunning spiral staircase that captured him most, along with the man blowing enormous, playful bubbles outside of the Tate Modern that we talked about later.

On the HMS Belfast war ship, I’d expected Ramsay to fawn over the mechanics. Rather, what stood out was an interaction with a volunteer who demonstrated Ramsay’s name in Morse code using dots and dashes. Notable that day, too, were other amazing occurrences, none of which were on the itinerary: Ramsay’s penchant for smoky Earl Grey tea (a new discovery), meeting our friend’s dogs, Itchy and Scratchy, spotting rare sports cars in Knightsbridge, and being gifted a coveted Manchester United soccer ball.

On a separate journey to the south of France, Brad and I marveled at the spectacular architecture of the Mucem in Marseilles and indulged in our first Michelin-starred restaurant, Prieure, in Avignon, which was everything we’d hoped for. But it was the stunning fields of poppies, a surprising parade of sheep in Provence, and the pretty shadows cast by the Plane trees arching over the road that we talk about most- the “asides” of our trip.

And after settling in back in Libreville, we were elated at the first passion fruit growing on the vine Ramsay planted months ago- one of those bits of magic in the before-and-afters that lingers.

May you seek joy, too, in the liminal spaces,

With love, Tracy