I don’t remember what day it was or even how old I was. I don’t remember what grade I was in, and I don’t remember if my siblings were even born. I think it is my earliest memory, but I can’t be sure. What I do know is that this, one of the simplest moments in my life, stands out the most.

I had recently gotten out of the shower, pulling my warm pajamas over my tiny body and looking in the mirror, brushing my damp mid length brown hair. I then hung my towel on the little, round, yellow rubber duck hook in the bathroom at the end of the hall. Afterwards, I took the short trek to my mom and dad’s room; one of my favorite places to cuddle or hide from the raging thunderstorms at night. I sat down on a small white loveseat, wedged behind the bed and the dresser drawers, and I put my feet up on a little ottoman, perfect for my tired stubby legs.

My mom then looked over and went into the bathroom. She came back with a bottle of fragrant peppermint lotion and a wooden foot massage.

Without even having to ask, my mom began to rub my sore feet with the moisturizer, the whole room filling with the sweet scent of peppermint. While she worked on the left foot, I massaged the right, feeling the wooden spheres glide across my youthful muscles.

A second later, my childlike self had an obscure thought, one of joy and sadness, of bliss and melancholy. I wanted time to stop. I wanted this moment to last forever. I never wanted to get out of that chair, to feel the weight of the world again, to be separated from my mom. I wanted to remain however old I was for the rest of my life, and in some strange way I was able to make that happen.

I know I’m not a young child, and I know that I’m not in my home, inhaling the scent of peppermint. The couch I was sitting on isn’t even in my parent’s bedroom anymore. It’s in the living room below, now an old scratching post for my two cats.

But what I do know is that when the pressures of the earth, bearing down on my shoulders are just too much, I can close my eyes and be transported to that little white couch in my childhood home, receiving a relaxing foot rub from one of the people I love the most.

All of this is true because a long long time ago I believed in stopping time, and I still do. The clock will still run, the seconds will continue to tick, but if a moment in your life just seems too good to let go, you can always freeze it in your heart.