Sometimes I think…
…that unless you’ve got wildly thrilling tales to share about your life like…
…that time you skydived out of an ancient plane held together by masking tape… pinned a live bug shaped like a brooch to your t-shirt in a Mexican market… pissed off an Amish man who thought you were stopping his black car for directions, not a selfie… gave a fake orgasm for your first TED talk… stole one of the prop crucifixes from the set of Buffy the Vampire Slayer…
Unless your life bursts with enough quirk and success to warrant your own bio pic starring a Hollywood hot shot seeking an Oscar nod – what’s the point?!
Who am I kidding. I don’t think this at all. Even though I have genuinely hurtled to earth with a stranger strapped to my back. Wore bug jewellery. Annoyed a cult member. Reached a staged climax. Committed a little larceny.
Life ain’t a highlight reel.
I celebrated my birthday this week on a day stuffed with blue sky and a priceless blend of ‘ordinary’ like…
Eating deep dish pancakes with my sons in a diner. Going on an Op Shop spree for more Levi’s than is practical. Walked by the heritage-listed building I was born in. Served up fresh smoked salmon for my 96-year-old mother (but only after I removed the dark bits from the fish because she’ll only eat the pink parts). Read birthday cards that made me cry.
Looks dull. Feels shiny.
No A-Lister necessary.
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