From their dynamic I was pretty sure that they were just friends, meaning it didn’t look like a couple and third wheel. One of the two women stood out to me. Since she was wearing the t-shirt and nametag of a local business I knew she wasn’t a tourist. I mention this because the giddy excitement she had for being there is usually reserved for Midwesterners who have never seen the ocean in person. And even though she was there with two friends I watched her have, what I call, a “single” moment. She took off her shoes, rolled up her pants and ran around in the sand. She ran in big circles, screaming and laughing all by herself. She ran and spun around until she was dizzy. And when she grounded herself she made a beeline into the cold early season surf, clothes and all, without a care in the world. She did this all by herself, like her two friends had magically disappeared.

She eventually regrouped with her friends. They acted silly, traded piggyback rides, carved their names in the sand and took selfies. I got to thinking; surely whenever this woman reflects on this day while glancing at the pictures she’ll remember a great day full of fun with two dear friends. But there’s no doubt in my mind she’ll also remember that “single” moment when she did something just for herself. She’ll remember the feeling of the sand between her toes, how she felt spinning and running and the taste of the salty air as she caught her breath. She’ll remember the sensation of the toe-numbing cold water. She’ll remember how happy it all made her feel. It will most likely bring a very big smile to her face.

This past Monday I did something I haven’t done in a very long time, I watched the rain. I listened to the rain. And I took a big whiff of the rain. A torrential summer rainstorm, the kind with huge gobstopper-sized drops was a rare occurrence when I lived in California. And if it did happen you were too concerned about native Californians’ ability to drive in the stuff or the possibility of a mudslide washing you over the side of the Pacific Coast Highway to enjoy it. Ah, but here in Massachusetts you know you’ll get at least one great thunder-boomer each summer. And on Monday I paused, took a seat on my front porch and just enjoyed the sight, sound and smell of it all. I took a deep breath and, if only for a short moment, let myself shed the stress I’ve been carrying around for far too long. I reveled in the hugeness of Mother Nature and her gift that on this day I was able to receive with wide-open arms. I relaxed. I recalled splashing in puddles as a kid. I drifted into a meditative state. I was having one of my “single” moments.

Now on most days I would be like everyone else, so preoccupied that I wouldn’t have realized it rained until I saw some sort of evidence. Maybe using the storm as an excuse to get things done inside because being outside wasn’t an option. Or perhaps cursing it and the ensuing logjam it brings during rush hour. I’ve shared the fun and spectacle of a great rainstorm with others before but it is definitely one of my “single” moments if I allow it to be. And on Monday I allowed it to be just that.

We all have things that maybe we don’t do anymore. Better said, we all have things that maybe we don’t allow ourselves to have anymore, such as these “single” moments. Maybe it’s running around and screaming, walking barefoot in the grass, staring up at the stars at night or getting lost in a storm. These moments can make you happy, or sad, or contemplative. You don’t have to be single to enjoy a “single” moment but you should never let being with somebody keep you from enjoying one. And if you’re like me, and you allow yourself, maybe something like a torrential rainstorm can be a day at the beach.