My gratitudes every evening run to 24, because that’s how many lines there are on the page in my notebook (very scientific!), and more than half of those are usually the great people in my life. I have so many, they are not normally the same ones although there is, of course, some crossover from day to day.
I spent today with a friend who I met when I first became a coach about twelve years ago and we met up this morning at the coffee shop where we had that first auspicious meeting. She bought the coffees and we drank them as we sat in my car in Hyde Park watching the ducks and the boats and the trees at The Serpentine. My pal caught her first real live glimpse of The Shard, behind the London Eye. Because the river snakes, you get these weird and confusing views sometimes.
She had told me in advance what she wanted for lunch (salmon, jersey royals, English strawberries) and we whizzed back to my place to meet the lady, Rochelle, from Ocado who delivered it and we ate it al fresco in my garden in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees; my friend cooked it. I explained to her that the tree above our heads, which was shedding helicopter seeds, was one of four which had enjoyed extensive tree surgery at my lavish expense when I first moved in, in 2008. This year was its recovery year and the first in which it had dropped helicopter seeds again since the surgery. Perhaps the shock to the tree’s system is just recovering? Either that, or I am losing it but I know I’ve never seen those seeds before and I know I would remember if I had. Clusters of seeds, I tell you. Very visible from beneath and all over the patio too.
Anyway… coffee, ducks, boats, The Shard, parking attendants (we were moved on), trees, seeds…they are not what this story is about. It’s about friends and this one special friend in particular who, despite being not nearly as woo woo as me, was game for the following exercise in my back garden when I suggested it.
Prompted by Dr Christiane Northrup’s foreword to Outrageous Openness by Tosha Silva, my choice for this month’s book club, I incited my friend to stand up and say aloud:
Infinite Spirit, send me a sign. Show me the next best use of my gifts and talents.”
She didn’t need much persuading, to be honest, to put on this tiny playlet in my back garden, she is a Star after all. Then I did it and then we did it together. That’s what friends are for. This is the sort of friend with whom a nine-hour play date is quite simply too short.
Did we get signs? Maybe; signs is all in the interpretation thereof, we agreed. After I explained to her how to manage a particular sort of property transaction and negotiation, she received an email about property investing. And when I went to drive her back to the station, I locked myself out of my flat by breaking my front door! What’s that a sign of, any idea Friends? Frankly, I blame my friend because the last time she was here we were locked out too; that time it was the side gate.
Doors. Locks. Entrances. Exits. Security. Safety. Sanctuary. Home. Property. For now, when you visit, plan to be nipping in and out through the French windows, like an Ayckbourn farce. Note to self: when I Googled his name just now for the correct spelling, his current production running at the NT is called A Small Family Business. Hmm. It’s a sign, I tell you. Of what, I have no idea. Let’s see what unfolds.