In the nineties, when I was about ten, my parents took me to Valmorel, a ski resort in French Alps. It was my first time skiing in the Alps and I enjoyed the trip a lot. After a week of skiing, when we were leaving, I cried in the bus. My mother said don’t worry, we’d go again. But I knew this was it, there would be no other experience that could compare to going to Valmorel for the first time in my life.
Looking back, I’m surprised how correct and prescient my reaction was. There was no other Valmorel. I’d gone skiing in the Alps many times since, almost every year. It is fun. But the magic of the first time is long gone.
There will be other experiences, good and bad, repeated and unique. There will never be another Valmorel.