Yesterday I visited an elderly friend in his mansion in a posh neighbourhood in Toronto. Back in the day, he was one of the titans of Canadian finance. Major players in every industry would bow and scrape when he walked by, hoping he’d make their dreams come true. Maître d’s catered to his every whim when he held court in the most expensive restaurants. He’d grown up poor, worked hard and became a huge success.
One time he told me his biggest regret was that he’d dedicated his entire life to his work, and hadn’t carved out more time for his family. He was going to make up for it when he retired. Travel with his wife. Spend time with his kids and grandkids. Already a generous philanthropist, he was going to devote more time and money to good causes.
Then, an incurable disease hit him just after he retired. Now his body and mind are disintegrating, siphoning away his strength and his freedom. He’s rich, but he’s been robbed of his time, and he can’t buy it back.
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Today I saw a woman on the street. I recognized her instantly. She’d been one of the world’s top models in the 90’s. A muse to top international designers. The face of iconic ads for the world’s top luxury brands. A distinctive, one of a kind beauty.
Even now, she still walks like a model. Glides through the crowd like a swan; graceful, elegant, impervious to gravity. When she got close, I saw that her face wore a mask of decay and dissolution. I don’t know her story. Booze? Drugs? The fast life with the playboy/gangsters of Milan? Life had etched a mocking message on her face and no amount of makeup could erase those scars. She was a cloud of mystery, solitary, untouchable, drifting by, leaving nothing in her wake.
Fate plays tricks on us all.