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The jelly’s in the pot

On my best days I feel just like a great white shark. Not all-conquering and indestructible — though I have my moments — but rather that if I ever stop moving, if I take a moment to correct myself in the full glare of the light, I’ll probably sink. I think this a sentiment typical of our time: we’re a people of movers, a swarm of busy-ness. We’re motivated not so much by greed as we are by an overriding fear of failure. And as a result, we create, we experience, and we consume far more than anyone else before us. We’re individualists, yet form clusters within. We’re dreamers, wheelers and schemers. We’re movers. Generation text? The baby boomboxers? Whatever. We defy categorisation because we don’t stay in one place — neither physically, mentally nor emotionally – long enough to own it. Our world gets smaller by the second and as it does, the mystery … the joyous excitement of new discovery, becomes less definable. How nice would it be to strip back the fine layers of resilience to leave us all vulnerable for a while. To feel the rawness of each new breath as it surges through our lungs. To be exposed to the realness of it all. At least for a day or two. Or until the next series of Temptation Island hits the screens. [illustration by Fernanda Cohen]