Recently, I have begun to feel the familiar pull. It's a tugging somewhere in the area where my ribs don't quite meet, and it happens as often as I drive to and from work - given the time to think about home and about family. 

Yesterday, I thought to myself, If it were really my last day on Earth, what would I do? The answer surprised me somewhat. I did not want to go skydiving, nor buy a one-way ticket to see the pyramids, or any of that crap. What I wanted was mundane, even; a long conversation with my family and friends over Skype, to tell them how much I love them, and how they have shaped my life so poetically. I also thought of other mundane things I would do: go outside all day, watch the birds and touch the grass, eat the most beautiful fruits and cheeses and drink the most heavenly wines, spend time with Ollie, walk, meditate, read a part of a favourite old book. All of these things are obviously extremely important to me.

It's funny, the memories I cherish most are either of one extreme or the other: 

- times when I was completely alone.

- times when I was utterly engaged in the company of people.