My Life In Film

Life is a film reel. You know, an old-school one, that comes in a big-ass can.

By which I mean it is both a contigious length, all of which comprises that life - but it is also comprised of hundreds of thousands of individual frames. Each of those frames capture a single split-second of the greater lifetime, often robbed of context and held alone, unless - of course - held against those before and after.

Sometimes what makes life really beautiful, really worthwhile, isn't that the reel is going the right way - it's the individual frames.

Today I was sat in the office. I was elbow-deep in a lengthy task, which I was quite enjoying. The folks around me where doing what they do, with all due care and dilligence.

Then the sun comes out and shines down on the car park outside; and one of my colleagues opens a window.

A breeze hits my face. Not a cold breeze - a cool one.

In that split second I was so very, very happy. I was content. My brain wasn't feeding me weird lines of crap, my body wasn't throbbing at me in any meaningful way, my joints weren't aching and my breathing was...just fine.

I was right where I wanted to be.

It doesn't happen often, but it happened in that moment, in an office in a building in an industrial estate in Westridge.

It's not always about the whole film reel. Sometimes you just need to appreciate the frame.