Five faces. Saying everything - and nothing.

The top picture. Two hostages holding a sign under duress.

Middle picture. A man holding an unknown number of hostages in a cafe in the centre of Sydney, with a hostage.

Bottom picture. Australia's prime minister, standing before a Christmas tree, responding; platitude central!

The majority of Australia's media has yet to agree it's a terrorist situation. It's apparently not agreed that it's sponsored by Islamic fundamentalists. Sigh. Perhaps it's Methodists - or Buddhists? But we all know with certainty that it wouldn't be - even though our politicians, bureaucrats, and media won't say it.

Today I'm meditating on whether there are sufficient people left any longer to speak up for billions of people that are simply trying to go about their daily lives without fear of intrusion by others promoting alternative cultures and beliefs.

And I'm praying the hostages are safe.

What stands in the way becomes the way.

If you saw the movie Gladiator you'll probably remember the character on the left; and on the right you'll see a more ancient rendering.

Meet Marcus Aurelius; Emperor of the Roman Empire.

We don't know a great deal about about his life - details considered accurate are sketchy.

But we do know a great deal about what he thought and believed because his great legacy was his writings entitled The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius; these are still being read, and his thinking embraced, nearly 2,000 years after his death. I have no fears that my own scribblings will be exposed to the same lengthy scrutiny.

I am an avid reader and I have read his meditations and I came across a recently written book that focuses, using the Aurelius texts, with laser-like precision on dealing with issues in life - and with failure.

So today I meditate on the words of Marcus Aurelius, written two millennia ago, about dealing with issues.

We can be confident that these words have some validity because, as author Ryan Holiday explains: In his own reign of some nineteen years, he would experience nearly constant war, a horrific plague, possible infidelity, an attempt at the throne by one of his closest allies , repeated and arduous travel across the empire - from Asia Minor to Syria, Egypt, Greece and Austria - a rapidly depleting treasury, an incompetent and greedy stepbrother as co-emperor and on and on and on.

So in our imagination we can see Marcus Aurelius sitting, perhaps in a tent on a snow covered battlefield somewhere in northern Europe, or in a palace overlooking the River Tiber amid the splendors of Rome, or in a plain room with whitewashed walls and scant furnishings musing and meditating on, and composing the empowering words and sentences that we still read today.

Marcus Aurelius wrote about taking action to overcome issues:

Our actions may be impeded … but there can be no impeding our intentions or dispositions. Because we can accommodate and adapt. The mind adapts and converts to its own purposes the obstacle to our acting.

The impediment to action advances action.

What stands in the way becomes the way.

Toolkit.

http://www.amazon.com/Obstacle-Way-Timeless-Turning-Triumph-ebook/dp/B00G3L1B8K/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1418527017&sr=1-1&keywords=the+obstacle

Giving.

This piece of art hangs in my Thai home; I'm not sure of the cultural significance of this lineup of six monks of descending size; it is a common motif in Asia.

There is an inconsequential story about it which I treasure; I took very good friends to a store where they saw this and we all loved it; they decided they would buy it which saddened me because I would have loved the piece for myself. But in the process of paying and wrapping they came to the conclusion, without any Machiavellian urging from me, that getting it home to Australia would be a taxing task; in terms of energy consumed, and probably financial as well!

This morning I began my day my offering monks food and a flower; these monks are not begging, in fact, it is somewhat the reverse because by accepting my offering they provide the valuable service of enabling me to make 'boon' - or merit - as we would say in English. In a sense it's like a loyalty program for participating Buddhists.

The merit earned can be used to ease the journey of loved ones that have passed on, or for oneself when a time of need arises.

Traditionally monks walk the highways and byways of Thailand at sunrise; historically they begin when there is light enough for them to see the lines on the palm of a hand; although I imagine that now many rely on an alarm of some kind. The Thai faithful stand outside their homes and wait, they go go to the local market where there will always be one or more monks, or they can simply go in search of one of these orange- or brown-robed men pacing their footwear-less way through cities, towns and villages. The food, and sometimes money, collected helps support the local temple community including the monks and, more often than not, feed others; if you are ever penniless in Thailand go to any temple, any morning, and you'll be fed, no questions asked.

I don't do this to make merit. I do it for three reasons.

First because it is the easiest way I know to help feed those less fortunate than myself. Second because it furthers the work of Buddhism which is a power for good in Thailand, and around the world; all Buddhists, including some monks, are not perfect but the Buddha's message is for all seasons, and for anyone with spiritual or practical needs. And third because one of the Buddhist beliefs is that to give brings as many rewards to the giver as to the receiver.

I meditate today that I am fortunate to have the opportunity to give to others.

Pleasingly fresh from the ocean. Sadly Picasso-like in death.

These fish, destined for the breakfast table, are fresh and their scales are beautifully, and now wastefully, colourful; lime green, electric blue, sunshine yellow, shiny charcoal grey, and the silver of burnished pewter. They nestle in a water-filled hollow in the sand.

For me it's novel, but not rare in Thailand, to see fishermen in action on the beach in the mornings; and their catch goes from the ocean to  plate, a few yards from the ocean's edge, with very little delay.

My lifestyle has, for a very long time, made home cooked or even fresh, as opposed to packaged, food, a rare event. Almost an event for which I was barely prepared in my Australian home; the number of utensils required to open and consume a microwavable dinner are very few! And in Thailand, where to eat out is always cheaper than eating in, my dining table is to be found in numerous places.

So you can imagine, I'm not a fisherman, hunter, or even a vegetable gardner; nor am I much of a cook - gourmet or otherwise.

Fishing techniques in Thailand have changed very little over years - centuries - and typically they involve a net, circular or long and shallow; these nets are cast or placed and then gathered-in trapping mostly fairly small fish.

I suppose this Thailand beach scene could be typical of any time in the last several hundred years.

 

 

The man casts the net and the woman has a basket in which the catch is kept - she draws it through the water periodically to, I imagine, keep the fish fresh. 

Today I'm meditating on the satisfaction that must come from taking just enough from the ocean for your breakfast. Economical. Sustainable. Perhaps even spiritual. And then conversely I meditate on how hard it must be to search for your next meal, rain or shine. 

 

In our western world large numbers of people now demand sustainable lifestyles, often of others rather than themselves, and while I applaud their zeal I wonder, who is going to give up what they have come to expect as a lifestyle right? Who is going to be prepared to go hungry when the fish are not biting. And who among us will give up the 4WD, or the family saloon? And who among us will use electricity only when the sun is shining?

I'm meditating on the human state-of-mind that must accompany a commitment to sustainability; it's not just about giving up, it's about every one of us doing things differently.

 

Our state-of-mind must be that fishing is an art. And that fish should be art.

 

It's going to be quite a change for most of us.

There's living life. And then there's living life. Interestingly no matter how you do it, there's one constant truth.

I've had a pretty good life. I've been healthy. I've had several great partners and I have more near-lifetime friends than I can count on the fingers of one hand.  I've always had enough money to get by. I failed at school but succeeded at life by understanding that school has little to do with gaining essential education. And I've been blessed with having discovered a number of capabilities and talents that have been rewarding in every sense of the word. I've had, and I'm having, a great time.

But living life is relative; take for example the four members of the eighties country supergroup, The Highwaymen: Nelson, Jennings, Kristofferson, and Cash.

These guys have LIVED life. And two still are, almost in spite of their lifestyles. Good ol' boys. And bad boys.

So, still at it after all these years, Willie Nelson at 81 is living a life that seems - larger than life; just recently I watched The Judge and there, over the credits, is Willie doing a brilliant cover of the Coldplay song The Scientist. Check it out.

The other remaining star of The Highwaymen is Kris Kristofferson who says of Willie: "He's a carved-in-granite, samurai poet warrior Gypsy guitar-pickin' wild man with a heart as big as Texas and the greatest sense of humour in the west".

So when I am looking for a way to put my life in perspective I sometimes take Willie's advice by reading a few pages from his book: The Tao of Willie. Who would know more about squeezing something extra from life, right?

Willie offers some great advice:

And more great advice when he sings: "I live one day at a time, I dream one dream at a time, Yesterday's dead and tomorrow's blind, and I live one day at a time".

Some of the best advice I've ever had.

But even so I keep in mind another Willie gem: "Trying to be someone else is the hardest road there is."

Live in the moment. One day at a time. One dream at a time.

But let's each do it our way.

Toolkit:

The Highwaymen in action: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tyO1eRtDRcs&list=FLIWvycylcRwgUiQPqGZ5-xw&index=2

Read the Tao of Willie:

http://www.amazon.com/Tao-Willie-Guide-Happiness-Heart-ebook/dp/B000PC0SDM/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1418275349&sr=1-1&keywords=the+tao+of+willie

She.

For some days now I've been reading the works of Rider Haggard; his stories are the prototype for the more recent Indiana Jones movie epics.

Rip-roaring adventure is the name of the game; and English gentlemen, natives, big game animals, mysterious and generally evil shamans, and ancient undiscovered ruins all have their well defined place in the yarns. If only life were now, still, so clearly defined!

When these stories were written each had one common factor; each story depended on one key certainty which is that no reader could be absolutely certain that the story couldn't be, at least in part, possible.

I'm currently reading She, a story about a tribe and a country ruled by an Amazonian woman described by her citizens as 'she who must be obeyed'. At the time of telling few if any knew whether the swamps, rivers, rock formations, and the ancient ruined cities described in the story were real; when these stories were written it was still possible that some of Haggard's fictions could prove to be true.

There were still nearly a hundred years of exploration before we could be certain his fictions were just that. Wikipedia didn't exist and even though Encyclopaedia Britannica was in it's ninth edition, and there were plenty of detailed maps, vast tracts of land were still to be described and mapped. And the idea of Google Maps would have been considered as mystical as the pronouncements of the shamans in Haggard's stories.

Despite all this, perhaps because of it, by 1965 more than 85 million copies of She had been sold.

All this leads me to wonder about our world today where there is little room for mystery - especially in encyclopaedia texts, and on maps. We know there is nowhere on the planet ruled by an Amazonian woman. We know when most archeological sites were built, populated, and when they fell into ruin. We can be certain that Shamanism is just that. We know. We have the facts. There is no room for the doubt that gives rise to magical uncertainty, and the possibility there may be adventure in the unknown.

And has this knowing improved our literature? Our movies? Has this certainty added one whit of unpredictable adventurous possibility to our lives?

I meditate today on what adventure I could embark on that is not already entirely predictable. And I meditate on whether this lack of uncertainty isn't just a little stifling.

Toolkit:

http://www.amazon.com/She-H-Rider-Haggard-ebook/dp/B007JLCVSC/ref=sr_1_4?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1418181014&sr=1-4&keywords=She

Patterns. A metaphor for our lives.

 

When you look around your bathroom you'll probably find plenty of tiles. Rigidly aligned. Precision cut. Regularly distributed. It may also be true of your kitchen. And many floors in your house. That's certainly true of the house in which I live.

Patterns that conform. Tiles of equal size and identical shape; regularly shaped and recurring patterns have many advantages.

Patterns can help us organise, and plan, and predict, and explain, and design; pattens are fundamental to life. And our lives.

But these kinds of patterns we typically see around our homes don't mirror our lives which are full of unequal-sized pieces. Pieces that overlap. Pieces that need to get squeezed and molded. Pieces that are partially erased. Pieces that need to resize and reshape in order to survive. These are patterns we most find in nature.

It's the patterns of nature that I try most to use when I am thinking about my life.

This morning walking the beach I meditated on what I could learn from the patterns in the sand; maybe it's worth checking the natural patterns around your home to see if they can be useful in planning, organising, and living your life.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I sometimes feel a great sense of responsibility in writing these posts. I'd hate anyone to be misled by my musings - because that is what they are - musings. Sometimes an idea that I propose is demonstrably correct because ample evidence supports the idea. But sometimes I am pondering, musing, considering, exploring - sometimes I am trying to discover an idea, or an insight, or a point of view, or perhaps a direction - for myself and I am simply sharing the process.

I'm an avid reader and often I read a book, article, or post. because I sense I have something to learn. And I'm always keen to share my discoveries, and to discuss and debate them.

Recently I started to read an interesting book: Life Reimagined: Discovering your new life possibilities. The authors define Life Reimagined as: a map and a guidance system; a growing community; and an emerging social movement. My initial reaction is one of interest because my experience of aging, and of already re-imagining my life daily, needs or contains all of these three elements.

But I am also wary of passing time; tick, tick, tick. Time is the giver of life. And conversely time is the enemy.

There's a paragraph in the book that captures the nub of the challenge: Life Reimagined invites us to get in touch with the most authentic meanings in our lives - and to act on them to discover new possibilities and make new choices.

Authentic. To act. Discover. These words to me suggest immediacy. These words describe what we encounter at a given moment - any given moment - as we encounter it. The be authentic is to be as one is - now. To act is something that we do now. To discover is in this moment.

So - for myself - as part of re-imagining my life I try to make my life horizons all that I do, reasonably can do, and all I will encounter within 24 hours. I try to live the reality of the cliche: today is the first day of the rest of my life. And for some, irrespective of age, it is both the first - and the last day of life.

I'm happy to take a step-by-step process to re-imagine my life; and the book Life Reimagined is an interesting resource, tool and text to plot the process.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Each day let's have some ideas about how we'd like to spend our day. It's about having a plan - without having a plan. It's not just about imagining - it's about doing and being.

Toolkit:

http://www.amazon.com/Life-Reimagined-Discovering-Your-Possibilities-ebook/dp/B00GS0CS2E/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1418011154&sr=1-1&keywords=life+reimagined+discovering+your+new+life+possibilities

Blue.

You can see for yourself this morning's shade of blue; this blue makes me feel calm, and cool, and as if all is well with my world.

Some days are different; the Andaman Sea in this southern corner of Kata Beach can be aqua, teal, golden-green, jade green, steel, or grey. And for me with each of these colours comes a different mood; but it's nearly always a positive mood. Even in it's wildest state the colours of the tropical ocean mostly make me happy, reflective, open, lighthearted, inspired. And the ocean's sounds are somehow a positive influence; the hiss and swoosh are sounds that calm and delight.

So I wonder. What if the ocean were red, or orange, brown, or black? And what is it's sounds were like a metal shop or a dog pound. Would I adjust and eventually feel like I do about Kata Beach this morning? I don't know. I doubt it. It seems to me that there are some sensations, some experiences, some 'realities'  are perfect. That said, perhaps we always need to be open to change?

Leaving our comfort zone and venturing into strange environments does not come easily. And in some case maybe it shouldn't. So perhaps we all need to recognise the moment when accepting changed circumstances - embracing a new reality - is more beneficial than not?

Dickens and Christmas go together like Christmas and pudding.

 

Christmas is nearly upon us.

I know it's quaint to talk about Christmas, instead of 'holiday season', but it's my blog and so I'll be as politically incorrect as I like. Christmas. Like it or not for hundreds of years this season has been Christmas and that's just how I like it.

Most years at around this time my thoughts turn to what I imagine as being a traditional Christmas environment and traditional Christmas fare: snow covered landscapes, roast turkey, roaring fires, mulled wines, drifting snowflakes, brandy infused christmas pudding with embedded sixpenny pieces, iced ponds, Christmas crackers and party hats, mistletoe, presents wrapped with bright paper and tied with silk ribbons, a decorated Christmas tree, Christmas cards above the hearth, Christmas carols, and chill winds.

Even though I was born in England, and grew up there, this really wasn't Christmas as I knew it; yes it was cold but in London there was rarely snow, and yes we had a large and festive Christmas lunch but in post WWII England large turkeys and other culinary treats weren't part of our food rationing regime.

But believe it or not, I could then, as I am now, still able to enjoy that traditional festive Christmas by turning to the works of Charles Dickens.

So when my thoughts turn to traditional Christmas I reach for Pickwick Papers, Chapter 28 where jolly Mr Pickwick and his intrepid friends are making their way to Dingley Dell to share Christmas with their friend Mr Wardle.

Dickens and Christmas go together like Christmas and pudding.

Now I live in Thailand you might imagine that there's not too much Christmas cheer but when I compare Phuket and North Melbourne I'd have to say Christmas is more in evidence here - than there. And I suppose that says a lot about multiculturalism because here, in a predominantly Buddhist country, I'll hear more Christmas carols than I will in politically correct North Melbourne.

One would think that in a multicultural society every season and tradition would be celebrated; but that no longer seems the case in Australia where multiculturalism has morphed into monoculturalism - and that culture is seemingly determined by anybody, as long as they are not Christian.

But wherever I am, when I want to be in a Christmas mood, I reach for Pickwick Papers - happily.

 

For more about the illustration above:

http://www.victorianweb.org/art/illustration/phiz/pickwick/23.html

 

Toolkit:

 

http://www.amazon.com/Pickwick-Papers-Illustrated-Charles-Dickens-ebook/dp/B00J195NJ4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1417863010&sr=1-1&keywords=pickwick+papers

The minutes going by on tiptoe, finger to their lips.

For ten years I've journalled every day; what I did, and often why. Who I spoke to, and often what we talked about. What I saw. Things I learned. Places I went. I couldn't be without a notebook - I'm not sure about you?

I love notebooks and journals and it's interesting to see how my own notebook behaviour has changed in a very few years; six or seven years ago I was trying to understand how my small Thai gardens would relate to the path of the sun overhead; so the picture at the top of this column shows my jottings at the time.

My collection of Moleskine notebooks are my friends, my muse. my past, present, and future; they are my magic carpet, my escape capsule and my window through which I watch, to paraphrase Raymond Chandler, the minutes going by on tiptoe, finger to their lips.

I love my journals; the folded and stained pages, the varying ink colours, the variation in my writing, the bits and pieces inserted, the smoothness of the paper and the bent covers.

Of course now there are many ways to add sparkle to my journals.

First of all I use my laptop. And I include photographs. And I dictate thoughts and ideas. I take short movies - sometimes of me talking to the camera. Today my phone can do all this and more.

Why do I journal? In a sense my journal is my life and without it I sometimes wonder whether I would have any recollection of my life.

Journalling is a way for me to design my life. To record my life. To remember my life. And to share my life. And when I reflect on life I really wouldn't want to forget a single day - even days that seem awfully bad.

Life. Capture it using whatever tools work best for you.

A new day.

 

Author Pico Iyer, in his book The Open Road, writes the Dalai Lama says: "Until the last moment, anything is possible." The Dalia Lama is speaking of politics but I'm taking him at his word and applying it to this day, and to my conviction that discovering is both an obligation - and a joy.

Sunset brings on a new day.

And today I am going to find a road or lane way that I haven't explored - and ride along it. Today I'm going to learn at least two new Thai words or phrases. Today I'm going to start reading a new book. Today I am going to finish watching The Book Thief, it's a fantastic movie. Today I am going to try something new for breakfast. Today I am going to feed Buddhist monks at daybreak. Today I'm going to do some of the things I did yesterday - but differently. And I'm not going to do something today that I routinely do - and find something different to do with my time.

As Pico Iyer writes in his book:

All we can do is remain ready to make the most of every eventuality.

Toolkit:

http://www.amazon.com/The-Open-Road-Pico-Iyer-ebook/dp/B00359KYEA/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1417740421&sr=1-1

And then it's day's end.

I'm not sure why but it seems to me that in the tropics each day speeds by; and yet the pace of life dawdles.

The onset of evening on the island of Phuket seems to arrive just after breakfast; and when it does the sky makes like blended strands and patches of textured raw silk. Yesterday evening they were of blue and grey, silver, hints of gold, and white.

Dwarfed on the highest peak is the Big Buddha serenely gazing to the east.

And the waters of the bay reflect a sliver of the light show beyond the range.

Time. It's a seductive, and beguiling, mistress.

Do you have anything to declare?

Have you noticed?

When we try get away for a while, or even when we just take a day off from work, or the gardening, or whatever it is we do, the world where we send most of our time, the world from which we are trying to escape - gulag Australia in my case - travels with us.

For me it's as if my unique version of our imposing world were attached to me; it's as if, when I leave the country, it is sitting in the seat next to me as we lift off, and as the world skinks my worries stay the same size; it's as if it needs to complete an immigration form for itself when I arrive at my destination; and it's as if I should declare it at customs, "Do you have anything to declare"? "Yes, I have the weight of my everyday world on my shoulders".

How can I afford to live? Am I really forgetting things more often? How much is the green-friendly electricity bill going to be? What is that pain in my back that comes and goes? Why did we do that? If only I hadn't done that. I wish I could go back and change that.

Worries are cruel and relentless pains; talk about water torture! Worry should be banned by Amnesty International.

Author and philosopher Eckhart Tolle writes about worries in his astonishing book, Practising the Power of Now; he refers to my example of worries, and many others, as pain bodies which are typically attached to events in the past - or the future.

And it's for this reason he makes the case in his book for not living in the past, and not living in the future because neither exist - the past is gone and the future hasn't arrived. Eckhart Tolle suggests that we live in this moment - and only this moment; his argument is, and it's unchallengable, this moment - the now - is the only time there is; and he goes goes further and says that by living in this moment we are able to eliminate all our pain bodies - all our worries.

Does it work? For me yes, most of the time; but if you want to know if it works for you, try it and see.

In my life there have been few pieces of advice that have been life changing but one sentence I read in Practising the Power of Now has made it much easier to give up worrying; and that's great because I no longer have to purchase two seats when I travel.

All problems are illusions of the mind.

Toolkit:

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_10?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=practising%20the%20power%20of%20now&sprefix=practising%2Cdigital-text%2C380

To smile or not smile? Shouldn't be a question!

Smiling is good.

Smiling makes us feel good. Smiling takes less effort than not smiling. Smiling is recognised, I believe by most people, as being a sign of friendliness.

So I'm always fascinated to see how difficult it is for many to smile; and I'm not sure why it seems so hard - is it natural reserve, is it our stultifying political correctness, or is it that people, perhaps more women than men, translate a smile as harassment? A recent You Tube video tried to make the case that saying hello could be interpreted as unwelcome sexual harassment; it's an idea too stupid to be a fabrication, right?

Don't get me wrong; I don't want to go around grinning like the much maligned Cheshire cat; and I don't want to grinning people constantly in my face; but I'm proposing there's a smiling balance - not too much, nor too little.

As I walk the beach each day I smile at those walking in the opposite direction.

I do this because I believe that if we are sharing the same beautiful space we could indicate our shared pleasure, our shared satisfaction, and our common humanity. I have to report that it's tough going.

My gut-ometer says that I have about a 5% success rate.

People sweep, lope, trot, and stride by, eyes fixed dead ahead, their lips tightly clenched, their posture rigid. I suppose in the roughly twenty minutes that it takes to traverse the beach they see no one; and like Shultz, they hear nothing, which is true for those with earphones who are not bothered by the whisper of the ocean across the sand at their feet.

I suppose women may have some cause for alarm - as a 71 years old walker you can imagine how threatening I appear; and I suppose many men may suspect my smile and attempted eye contact is a pickup attempt?

Failing to acknowledge a greeting or, for example, a smile, may make us feel empowered - but it mostly makes the unacknowledged greeter think we're rude, arrogant, aloof, unfriendly, disengaged and uncaring to name but a few potential reactions and while all that may be true - and it's probably not - do we really want others to think that of us? Back in the nineteen-sixties psychiatrist Eric Berne created transactional analysis and wrote about this very subject in his books Games that people play and the sequel What do you say after hello? In short Berne suggested that we often deny someone response to their initiative knowing that it can be hurtful.

Beyond the reasons I have given for smiling I have another reason. The Buddha taught that if for our pleasure and happiness we depend on external factors we are doomed to disappointment. So for me my determination to smile, irrespective of response, is like exercising a muscle because when I receive no positive response I continue on my way, full of the joy that comes with being on a beautiful beach - the lack of response does not spoil my day.

The other day as I climbed the stairs to leave the beach, on the top step a huge figure of a man with a face set in an angry scowl wearing dark sunglasses - a pet hate of mine - appeared; I wasn't going to smile at this fellow! As we passed he said: "good morning" and smiled. I smiled and said "hello" back and went on my feeling great and that all was right with the world; I hope he did too.

Let's all smile more often than we tend to do. Let's get the smiling balance to favour smiling rather than non smiling.

Let's all try it - whatever happens will be more interesting than if we didn't.

Disclaimer: the athletic person in my photograph was not invited to smile so I make no accusations against this person innocently going about enjoying the beach. But for the record I would have smiled had the camera not been in front of my mouth and, in a perfect world, he would have smiled back.