And what’s beautiful about that.
“You’re going to chew the fermented shark eight times then take the shot.”
14 pairs of eyes stared at our twenty-one year old guide, Aron, who sat at the head of a long narrow wooden table. A food tour in Reykjavik, summer 2026. An underground restaurant. Layers of coats and jumpers on the back of our chairs, shed in the warmth of the dark room. Lunch with strangers. And a challenge thrown down as our first encounter. 13 hands held cocktail sticks with a tiny square of fermented shark on the end. The stink of it filled the air. 13 hands held shot glasses filled with Brennivn, an Icelandic ritual to follow the shark. The sweat prickled at the back of my neck, my cheeks flushed and my hands squeezed together on my lap.
“Let’s all do it together, 1…2…3…go!” said Aron, and they did.
There is a cell in my body that will forever be changed by this moment in time.
There is another that is different the moment before my mother passed away to the moment after she left. Another when my father did the same.
Another that has shifted now I have changed my living room from 2012 decor to a beautiful sanctuary. Another at the delight on my childrens’ faces when they set eyes on the room (who knew they would care so much about the feeling of a room).
A whole heap of cells that morphed as my heart broke open and synapses fired through the watching of the ITV series 7 Up this weekend: binge-watching 56 Up and 63 Up in preparation of the upcoming release of 70 Up.
There is another cell that changed after my first kiss, my second break-up, my third career change, my fourth sambucca shot in that kareoke bar, the fifth time I got my nails done properly, the sixth nappy I changed, the seventh wave I jumped over, the eighth full moon I raised my head to see, the ninth hangover, the tenth time my hand was held by another.
Each Sunday night phone-call with my sisters alters my life for forever on, as does every one of these I miss because I’m up to something else.
Every single moment I live changes me.
I don’t know why the realisation of this, such obvious fact, moves me to tears.
Perhaps it is because of the years spent in trying to improve myself and build something better than what is standing here right now in my skin.
And the years spent trying to de-condition and arrive at a place that is somehow purer and more godlike than this messy jumble of real life human.
Today, as I write this, there is a feeling of awe I feel at the intricate unique tapestry I have become. A recognition of the preciousness of every unrepeatable instance of human that has ever and will ever tread the earth. And that treading the earth is all that is required by any of us to become richer, more interesting, more alive; cell by cell, every single moment.
Whoever, whatever came up with this idea of creating humanity, I am in awe of you.