Save Point

I found myself in one of those meetings, 30 minutes that overran to 2.5 hours.

I wished it went on forever, a point in time that remained locked. Like a save point in windows OS where you could revert whenever. Why? So many levels to that moment. I don’t even know where to begin.

The last four places I was at, idea generation sessions were the norm, and complaints were mostly along the lines of what’s the point, it’ll get shot down, suits won’t know how to sell this, the boss will always say no, we’re just a production house with no new tricks. My job was to instill inspiration. You give me 100, I’ll sell 1. That’s the ratio, keep going. It’s the same with tag lines. I miss that terribly.

Brainstorming sessions, conversations about ideas, people letting down their guard and putting all sorts of wonky out there. I learnt and was taught that brilliance came from failure. Some bad brain farts becoming bright sparks. Teflon, the refrigerator coolant gas that became a non-stick sensation. Post-It, the super strong adhesive that didn’t quite stuck. These are never a waste of time. The turnaround, it’s what you make of it that tips the scales.

During that meeting, I observed passion coming to life. Glints in eyes with genuine excitement and smiles whenever a good one comes along. I’m not sure if it’s my luck, I usually end up in places where the environment is a bummer, for some reason or other. I meet people with their dreams sucked out of them. For a long time I’d always thought it was the industry that churned out jaded souls. Or this country that dumbed down sincere ideas and innovation. We always feel judged and the need to self-censor. I’ve been exposed to different nationalities and cultures from a young age. My family is one of mixed marriages from mixed territories. We speak often, we speak of differences — things that make me feel small and what’s out there, unimaginably vast. I crave the nomadic existence and at some point, I will get there, for a little bit, and continue my stories. But I’ll always feel connected to home; my country and my people, them which I call family.

The meeting dragged and became a drone. There’s always a lapse in these meets, where sometimes we zone out trying to come up with something spiffy and nifty. I started to scribble in longhand, some silly anecdote. And I looked up. Out, through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The rain, she has arrived. It was a light shower while I stared. Like tiny snow flakes, gentle descend, undulating cascades. Then her gusto grew. Like bits of hail smashing against the concrete ceiling on the opposite building. Rattle, tattle.

Slowly around the room starts to wake and take note of her presence. She has such an effect doesn’t she? Signifier of the start to renewed life and born again beginnings. Refreshing reboot. Walks in the rain, her touch on your skin, her smell in your nose, her taste in your mouth and in your eyes where everything seems to sparkle. Someone remarked, echoing my thoughts, breaking my daydream. It made me smile right to the eyes. Snowflakes and snow globes. Finding Gaia — Utopia.