What is in the air these days? Are the planets aligning in a certain way? Perhaps it’s the Summer Solstice, which happens at any moment. Whatever it is, there I was, threading my way through the platform crowds of Waterloo station having just arrived in from Salisbury and that fabulous wedding (more on that below), aiming for the one turnstile exit that fits suitcases. The exit that blocks up because the tickets never scan and the official helping out keeps getting asked for directions by tourists on the other side. The woman in front of me turns to, well I don’t know, maybe apologise for the delay in that British way, as if it’s her fault, or to share a grimace at the faff, and oh my god, we know each other. From my early days in Costa Rica… 30 years ago.

We were both speechless, literally, with disbelief and incredulity. It took a few minutes for us to get some words out, and then we went for coffee. I met Lydia pre-children, up in the mountains of Costa Rica. She was 22 and living with her dad’s friends, learning Spanish. We laughed as we reminisced about the incredible night view from my house overlooking San José, about taking the dogs on walks in sodden, cow-filled pastures, and playing Super Mario on very basic video equipment until dawn one day. We caught up on other things, like travel and children and marriages and a divorce and work and, and, and… 

There’s obviously a hidden cosmic agenda in this, and we’ve decided to just ride with it. I’m going to see her in Switzerland in October.

Chance encounters or random decisions certainly set all our lives in motion down one path and then another, but serendipity is a real aligning of the stars. Or perhaps we’re just players in a giant chess tournament. Some omnipotent being shifts a pawn, cuts the bishop across the board and your knight is lost. It was a series of serendipitous moves that resulted in the paths of Juno and Gus crossing, in a kitchen, in London, seven years ago. Which in turn formed the framework for my untethered year as I needed to return here by a certain date to celebrate their wedding. 

And what a celebration it was. The first time I have ever been a Celebrant, but perhaps not the last. I worked hard on the words to emphasise their commitment, the importance of being kind, the merit in noticing, cherishing and strengthening their bond. Essentially, I wanted them to not make the same mistakes that I did, and yes, there were mistakes. But we learn from our mistakes, and through this year of self-discovery I’ve managed to put aside many of the regrets that I’ve dragged behind me for years. The divorce was not my fault, but I bear responsibility for the deterioration of the relationship. That’s my most recent learned wisdom.

The wedding took place in the garden of the home of the groom's parents in a small town in Wiltshire. It was idyllic. Chairs were laid out on the grass in rows flanking an aisle, we stood under a leafy arch to conduct the ceremony. After drinks and canapés, we strolled across a wooden bridge whose supports had been wound with greenery and fairy lights towards an enormous marquee set up on a sort of island, beyond which stretched meadows complete with sheep and cows. Idyllic, as I said. Bucolic.  

It didn’t even rain.

160 people sat at four long tables set with gypsophila, exquisite white, rosé and red wines, and a single Riedel wine glass each. Quality over quantity - my style of wedding. The food was delicious, the speeches were some of the most heart-felt, generous I've heard, and laughter, joyful shrieks and applause were scattered through the evening. The newly-married couple are an inspiration to others with their genuine abilities to connect, the love they show each other and the happiness they enjoy together. As a bonus, the dance floor didn’t empty until the music stopped at midnight. 

This is the third wedding within a year for me, and there is something heart-filling about these rituals. I am honoured to have played such an important role in the event. I feel complete. 

Me, after the ceremony!

I’ve been rather remiss on posting on this site. I mean, angst is more gripping, a confrontation or a massive misjudgement with consequences simply makes a better story than the rather contented phase I’ve been going through. 

The only thing I can come up with is the reaction from the older, French, agitated man in a red silk bathrobe after I inadvertently rang his doorbell at 4:30 one sunny afternoon. I had mistaken his place on the busy St. Denis road in Montreal for the edgy tattoo parlour where I hoped to get my navel piercing swapped out (see post from later March if this is news). I mean, okay, the sign was obvious when, looking in disbelief at me and his finger shaking in rage, he pointed it out to me. And perhaps I was interrupting something but if so, why answer the door?

Two famous residents of Montreal - one no longer with us, the other very much alive.

In my view, life is like a four-legged stool, with a leg each for health, wealth, community and purpose. Post-pandemic, my stool was a little wobbly, and I wanted to work on purpose and community, my what and where. Then a few weeks ago, after months of pressuring myself to choose my future base, I realised that the “what” is more relevant than the “where”. After all, if What I am doing is fulfilling, then the Where is really not terribly important, whereas if the What is absent, there is no way that the Where is going to be able to fill that hole. 

I’d been training my binoculars on the wrong thing.

Speaking of binoculars, I used a less-magnifying mirror to put on some mascara the other day and guess what? It was so much easier as I wasn’t trying to fine-tune each individual lash. I treated the row of eyelashes as one entity. There’s a metaphor in there – I should not get too stuck into the minutiae of life but be more receptive and curious to a wide range of things. 

So how will I feel as I head back to London this weekend for a couple of months, my gig as a wedding celebrant now less than two weeks away? To continue with the theme: I am quite content with my Who and my Why, and am now interested to see how the neighbourhood feels. Will it settle around me like a well-loved sweater? Or will it feel like an old school blazer – slightly itchy, tight around the shoulders because I’ve grown, and too redolent of the past?

I’ll keep you posted.