I have returned from my most beautiful, spontaneous trip to London with my head buzzing full of dribs and drabs which might, but don’t quite, constitute Things Worth Writing About. Then I discovered that I’ve been brought into a delightful Game of Wonderful Sparkly Fun by the most beauteous Queen of the Light Fantastic (who sends her love, by the way) it’s a case of pointing out the brightest stars shining in my mind at the moment – the thinks I want to write out, just a little, to better understand or…hmm…just have *out* there.
So here I go, my dear friend, and I want to begin by telling you what a pleasure it is to be able to address you thus, through letter-but-not-quite, across the miles, and hope that our minds might meet in the World Between the Wires, and that we can find a small lake there, and settle down under the trees, in dappled shade, and talk.
The thing is, that’s where most of my mind is, today, for that’s the place I visited on Wimbledon Common – a tiny lake where there was the chance of a kingfisher, and the actuality of two herons, several coots and whole families of moorhens, not to mention a tiny, frustrated dog (who looked like an ewok), which kept flomping down on the end of its leash, and driving its cajoling owners a little bit nutty.
I spent time In Real, whilst desperately missing my people to whose hearts I’m hardwired, and there was a queer juxtaposition of wanting to immerse in the sun-baked, water-scented surroundings, and to appreciate the patterns of shadows on ground, the round ripeness of berries on briars (and their disappointingly tart, tongue-fuzzying taste), and the tiny, dippling movements of the water-birds as they hunted for bugs between the lilypads, whilst my mind and heart were yearning for people whose lives I only know through the screen, and whose voices I’ve only heard through speakers. It was very challenging not to dive into my bag for my phone as I usually do, but I was aware that to do so would be rather rude, so I sent messages in quiet moments of Own Space, and I turned a deaf ear to the quiet keening in my heart.
I’ve heard it said that it’s ‘impossible’ to love from a distance, or to truly be friends with someone you’ve never met, and with all due respect to that idea, I fundamentally disagree. Admittedly the relationships in days of yore used to be more stilted, with pen-friends and ‘correspondents’ becoming slow but stalwart parts of life, but the glorious speed which is endowed by these wires which hold us all connected…it delights me that it’s no longer only words which allows us to connect with others, and I am utterly thrilled to be looking forward to what I hope will be the first of many trips to hold tight in my arms the physical selves of those dear friends who have come to mean so much to me. At the moment no delight looms larger or brighter in my mind.
Other things which are buzzing around my mind, seem mostly to be inspired by science, or at least to hearken from that world: I’m still blown away by the idea of New Yorkers being scared of the goldfish, which get flushed and then have the temerity (and bulletproofishness) to survive and thrive in the lakes and rivers there. I adore the idea that before funding further research or effort into the arms race, we should first stop, take a moment (or several) and discover the complete workings of one creature, first – maybe an ant. For it would surely be the case that we would spend so long trying to figure out how such a tiny creature can work so effectively within its social consciousness, that we would forget all about trying to be the guy with the bigger stick, and lose ourselves in wonder. Those, and the fact that when we see a photo we can remember a moment, but a scent can trigger within us the emotions we *felt* during a moment, and that’s marvellous.
Another thing I can’t quite get over is the sadness and desperation of London Town on a night out – I was definitely out of my element, and really, it was out of mine – seeing as I was dressed as the sparkliest, possibly racier than most, red-and-glitter-bedecked woman who ever had a new haircut and an unreasonable amount of cleavage showing, but it was a look, and I rocked it. I discovered that not only are drunk people fascinating to watch, but that the most blatant oglers seemed to be guys with women already on their arms (ew!); that walking headstrong in new boots without gel pads is foolhardy; that kissing strangers in the street leaves you feeling hollow (even if they have a cute accent and are twinkly, good-looking, (drunk) and insistent); and that actually there is more soul-deep fun to be had in a few hours of sunshine and good conversation with someone you trust and whose company you enjoy, than there is in the disco-lit-and-darkened, booze-soaked corners of London, no matter how alluring they seem.
I’ve thought little and often on a concept I struggle with – judgement – and how it can turn us into unbearable snobs, narcissists, keep us safe, determine who ‘our people’ are, allow us to consider all the options, encourage us to make wise decisions, give us important information, or just make us look silly. I’m good at rushing off half-cocked and making snap decisions based on probably not enough information, and then looking like a fool, or upsetting people. I’m also aware that at times I need to exercise better judgement in line with something akin to self-preservation, and consequences be damned.
It’s also been on my mind lately to wonder about my future, and to allow my mind to drift across opportunity-studded fields of possibility, pausing to alight on one bright option or another, and think it through a little more. At the moment, there are so many to choose from, and whilst doors in some directions might be closing, I’m thankful for windows which appear to be open and inviting, and I’m utterly revelling in the freedom I have to embrace at least the idea of different versions of the ‘Happily Ever After’ we’re all chasing.
I make no guarantees, but the variety of possibilities is quite glorious to behold.
I hope you are well, my Queen, and that you might consider lowering pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and directing a missive within the bounds of the game, taking it Onwards and Upwards to fresh heights of loveliness.
I remain your loyal servant,
The Glitterbomber xXx