I walk down to the beach most evenings. I hate the sand. But I love feeling like I dropped into a stranger’s life, like a location pin.
If all I did for the rest of my life was watch people live theirs, I think I could be happy.
I’ve come to learn that the way we feel about other people has less to do with them and more to do with the stories we tell ourselves.
At 6.21pm in Mumbai, these are the stories I told myself.
I saw a man blowing giant lollipops. I thought they only made those in candy factories.
There was a runaway princess who indulged the paparazzi while her getaway horse took a sip of water.
I saw a family of three surveying a parcel of land they just bought for their new home. Dad pointed out where the sunflower garden would be, because they’re mom’s favourite flower. But mom has always loved roses. Dad gave her a bouquet of sunflowers for their 2nd anniversary - also the day their daughter was born. Roses have played second fiddle since.
Three little crows treasure hunting at the beach. They spotted a purple seashell, scraps of white gunny bags, and some rocks. They took photos of their claw prints in the sand and flew home.
Two best friends talking. One has had a difficult few weeks. She wants to wipe the slate clean, move to a new country and start over. “But does this place have a beach? And your favourite biscuits?” asks her friend. The escape plans have been abandoned for now. 🎈
