Turns out that writing about what happened in meetings with politicians in a captivating and insightful way is really hard. Which is a shame, because in all honesty it was a captivating and insightful experience.
Fortunately, one of the bloggers there is also a pretty amazing journalist. While I work out what I want to say about the day, head over to Emma Lee Potter’s website to see her summary of the events. Then come back here, get over how clunky my writing still is when compared to the professionals, and read the rest of this post.
After the one hour meeting in the capital, I spent much of the day walking by the river. As I walked, I bumped into vivid memories, crushing disappointments, and new dreams.
The emotions that swept through me, and that I always encounter whenever I visit London, were empowering, deflating, and utterly enchanting. Kind of like parenting, don’t you think?
From a comfortable distance, everything before you glitters with tantalising possibility. When up close, though, that sparkle is something you can only catch glimpses of amongst the more concrete reality of the experience.
That iridescent twinkle is none the worse for being intermingled with this reality. In fact, it’s the juxtaposition that makes little moments so beautiful and so vivid.
As you walk, you pass close to hundreds of people so similar to you, yet so distant. This isolation on a crowded street can leave a feeling of crushing emptiness. So much so that a smile in the catch-of-an-eye can scar your mind, becoming a treasured memory or a life long friend.
There’s enough fuel around here to feed the fire of your imagination for all eternity. A gush of wind from an unexpected direction can cause your ideas to spread like wildfire, or extinguish them entirely.
You dream of pencil skirts, sculpted jackets and high-rise heals. You know, in your more rational mind, that the challenges ahead will be better met wearing comfortable trousers and flats.
The enormity of just being here creates its own gravity. The experience sucks you in.
Your universe shrinks, and everything revolves around ‘this’. It’s an immense force that you have. It makes you feel tiny.
There’s enough choices to satisfy every appetite. It’s odd how you are always left hungry for more.
It energises you. You’re shattered.
It’s resented. You need it.
It is constant.
It is flux.
It is flawed.
It is perfect.
It’s being a Mum.
It’s being me….
…and I love it.