You’re about to enter a room full of strangers, where you will have exactly four minutes to tell a story that would convey who you really are. What’s your story?
You really, really don’t want to know that. And I have no intention of telling you, because I wouldn’t know where to start. And I really, really wouldn’t want to if I did.
To begin with, wild horses wouldn’t drag into a roomful of strangers expecting a four-minute expose of MOI. A roomful of strangers per se would require a couple of well-trained draught horses. Strangers with expectations? Forget it!
As for the four-minute thing… Dear WordPress, can you really expect someone as fascinating, multi-faceted, extraordinarily gifted and widely experienced as I, to condense all that glorious complexity into a mere four minutes? Hours, I’d need. Hours, my friends, to detail the glittering minutiae that might even begin to explain the person I really am. If I knew. Because every one of the 26,018 days I have lived (plus a few extra for leap years) has contributed its own grain of sand to this dazzling whole you see before you (separated, fortunately, by computer screens and godnose how much technological wizardry).
In other words, I am dead ordinary, but even so, every one of us is so much the sum total of our experience that no one story can possibly encapsulate our essential self. We are different things to different people, on different days, in different environments. We change as we grow up, grow old, grow disillusioned, revitalised, more confident, shattered, relocated, remarried, decluttered… You want me to go on? I have been at least ten different people in my life, without even thinking about it. So now I’m going to bed, to sleep, to be reborn again tomorrow…