“Stories are everywhere, you just have to look for them.”

“Everybody has at least one novel in them.”

And so the aphorisms continue.

For me, people themselves are stories. They’re the living embodiment of a rich tapestry of narrative and character – something that continues to develop with every thought, every action, every day. Perhaps the great tragedy is that whenever we meet someone we usually only get to witness a small sliver of their world. We engage only with a single chapter, maybe a scene, maybe just a sentence. Perhaps there’s no tragedy in this at all. The fragments we encounter have the potential to be perfectly formed in their own right, and they attract a layer of unanswered questions as compelling as they are unavoidable. Even if we can’t always share the fullness of our story, the trace we leave in our wake is just as valuable.

Turning this trace into something smartly packaged – a photo, a film, a book, a documentary – might just offer an opportunity to dig a little deeper, but inextinguishable and irresistible mystery will always remain. It’s part of the quintessential beauty of being human.