“She’s gone. I tried variations of the program; others appeared, but not Minuet.”
“Maybe it was all part of the Bynars’ programming. But you know, Number One, some relationships just can’t work.”
“Yes, probably true. She’ll be difficult to forget.”

Will Riker has one of life’s rare yet perfect experiences in the form of a computer-generated lady who charms him with her beauty, intelligence and love of jazz in the ST:TNG first season episode “11001001”. Ultimately, the moment proves fleeting as Minuet is nothing more than a distraction created by an alien race to occupy Riker until they needed his help aboard an abandoned Enterprise. Once the crisis is averted, the specially-created holodeck program is no longer exactly the same despite Riker’s efforts to bring it back.

Minuet is gone; the moment is gone.

We all have these moments: a confluence of great people, events and shared experiences. They can last only a few hours, a day, months or years. It might be your first love, your first day at university or your first adventure abroad. If you’re fortunate, you have these moments in your career where a supportive boss, talented colleagues and appreciative customers are bundled together to create a rewarding and even exhilarating workplace.

When these experiences end we mourn them; we grieve them as we would a lost loved one. When they end abruptly, it’s jarring. Even when you’re prepared for the closure of one chapter, the mourning period that follows can last for what feels like an eternity.

Not long ago I had moment that I’d thought – and hoped – would last for a long time, if not forever. Ultimately it lasted less than a year and ever since, I’ve sought variations of the program; I’ve hoped and tried to recapture the fun and the camaraderie of those months, and hoped to maintain a connection to one particular person whose impact on my life caught me completely by surprise. I had some amazing adventures with her; she brought out the best in me when many other things in my life weren’t going right.

But one day, just like Minuet, she was gone. She was difficult to forget, but I managed. Rather than being sad when her visage danced into my mind, I recalled the exhilarating experiences I had with her, truly some of the most joyous moments of my life.

“Don’t look back unless you are going that way,” said Henry David Thoreau. And even if you try to go back, the footprints fade and often disappear altogether. You wind up in a similar place, but it’s not quite the same, and you ultimately drive yourself mad making comparisons.

Not long after coming to terms with this unexpected and unwanted ending, I was presented with a variation of the program. My Minuet resurfaced, albeit in a different setting. It was an unexpected but welcome surprise.

But it was short-lived, and I’ve been a little miffed at the Universe ever since. I’ve considered suppressing memories related to the program, but if I’m honest with myself I would not trade those experiences for anything. I am grateful she was in my life if only for short time.

One day soon I hope to no longer yearn for a variation of the program. No promises though; she will be difficult to forget.

Gary Hilson is a Toronto-based freelance writer, editor and content strategist storyteller.