As I then studied the décor, the feature pieces, and intricate detail of the room in which we stood, I recalled a conversation with a friend some years previous, whilst clutching a sturdy pint in the dusty corner of a history-drenched pub. She was never going to be centre-spread. The very thought of having staples clipping her wings in any form was source of revulsion.
"I don't need all of this," Her arms waving dramatically in ever expanding circles. "I work to live. I don't secrete myself in bricks and beige, and fill the space with the ornaments and tokenism that fills every other house in the street." I looked on in awe.
"My home is in here," A hand casually held across her heart. "My living is in here," She tapped the side of her head. "And all I need to get me between this point and the end is in here." A small, tatty back-pack sturdily took up its place on the seat next to her.
I learned that day, about how we value, what we value, who we value, and the anxiety in us that keeps us in our cosy prisons; the lost land between being knowing and being content with who I am, and knowing and being content with my world. The polarity of what is meaningful, what is of substance, what resonates with me and the space that hinders our experiencing the world around us and each other. Hers was the journey at a bravely life-affirming leisurely pace rather more than the frenetic greed and envy of the rat race. There's always more to life than this.
The photographers flicking his locks and smiling expectantly. Lens poised to capture the beautiful moment.
"Where do you want me?" I throw off my coat.