Sometimes you catch a glimpse

Jay Gatsby threw parties of such magnificence that strangers from miles around would attend. They were wild and giddy whirls of excitement, the night full of possibilities. Groups would form and dissolve, strangers become friends and the sound of laughter would hang in the night sky of West Egg.

There is another world, beyond this one; while different, it shares a lot of the aspects of our world. Like Murakami's 1Q84 it's similar but subtly and significantly different. As with Gatsby's parties, there is a sense that wild and exciting things have just happened and wild and exciting things are just around the corner. It's a life that, by and large, other people live; a world that, by and large, other people inhabit. And, like Gatsby's parties and Murakami's alternate world, it is a work of complete and utter fiction.

As I type this on my iPhone I'm sitting in a darkened penthouse apartment, looking at a 180 degree view of the lights of Sydney. It's a beautiful sight but it doesn't seem any more real to me than the Los Angeles of "Blade Runner." I've just come back from a dinner that, while utterly fabulous, cost more than I would previously have imagined spending on food in a month. This world in which I have temporarily found myself is fantastic (in all senses of the world), no doubt, but seems completely unreal. I am enjoying spending time here but I don't feel like I belong. I look around and can't quite believe I'm here. Sometimes I chuckle to myself at the extravagance of it, the luxury. And all the time I remind myself of how lucky I am to experience this, even briefly.

I'm just visiting this other world and, while I know I can't stay, I also know I'm fantastically fortunate even to be able to visit. I don't know how I managed it and I'm certain I don't deserve it, but I'm very happy to be here, even temporarily. And I know how lucky I am.