It started with a yoghurt factory.

Faces turned towards the screen, we wondered what would be said next. How could there be a whole professional talk about yoghurt? What would they say? We were interested.

One day, a man had taken a drive into almost the middle of no-where - past the city, past the suburbs, past the place where most people lived, to a place where nothing else thrived - a place where an old, paint-peeling factory stood.

The factory was to be sold.

It was to be sold because it was old. Over 80 years old, if I recall, and the owner had given up on it.

Given up on it and the 55 workers inside, who stood there still when the man stepped from his car and went inside. They watched him as he looked around, talked to him, and wondered what he was seeing.

This man saw hope, somehow.

He saw 55 workers still in the place they had been for so long, and saw them sad to be taking apart their factory.

Somehow, he took hold of this hope, bought the factory, and took a jump.

He took a jump by hiring back some of the workers who had been given up on. He took a jump by painting the walls with them, starting from the outside and slowly working inwards. He took a jump by being the one who didn't give up on something that someone else had.

And he landed.

This man told his story, of how it all started with a yoghurt factory - old, peeling, with nowhere to go - and gave it somewhere to go. He gave the people who were trying to hang on something to hang on to and called it community. He gave them and the factory a purpose and worked so hard that the purpose returned and with it the community.

The place where the old factory stood grew again and was no longer the middle of nowhere. People came. And where they came the schools came, shops came, businesses came. More money came to the community and it started to thrive.

This man, who began his talk about yoghurt, almost created a whole new world around that factory, and then told about how he created more factories in small communities in the middle of nowhere and made them somewhere with a community. People scoffed, then, telling him he was mad to go to those places. Now, it's one of the world's most famous brands. My partner and I, watching this talk with our noses ever inching closer and closer to the screen as this man talked, blinked when he said the name of the yoghurt brand.

Really? THAT brand?

Why, we have it in our fridge.

It really came from that? A place that was almost given up on, and only thrived from that man taking a random drive and a lofty risk and grabbing on to a whole lot of hope.

The power felt almost too real. The talk had impressed and caught our attention. This man was a genius who talked about making community the heart of a workplace, about helping its people, and how that would, in turn, help the workplace. And then, for it to become so relatable with the yoghurt in our fridge.

The spark that grew in our souls that day grew our own desires to make a difference. What would be our community, what could we lift up that had been given up on?

An inspiration to continue forward with full speed, hope, and large jumps towards something we can't see yet, but will blink and look back in surprise when we get there, like this man did.

An inspiration to see the beauty in everything, no matter how old or small, and to not give up on something just because of how it looks.

An inspiration that started with an old yoghurt factory.

Can you smell the spice in the air,

Wafting along the fresh, wintertide breeze,

From hot, spiced drinks and baked winter treats,

That will warm you up from within?

Hear the elation of children,

As they prance towards the tinkle of bells,

Where they know jolly old Santa is sitting,

And will give them merry gifts for the year.

And hark the hubbub of grownups chatting gayly,

About sweet treats, parties, and wine,

As they saunter amongst the German market stalls,

Overflowing with European seasonal cheer.

Can you taste them, those mince pies,

Leaving hints of nutmeg and cloves on your tongue?

And the hot, spiced sausages with a zing of cranberry,

Washed down with a warming gulp of mulled wine?

Oh, what a glorious place to be,

Surrounded by good food, drink, warmth, company,

Amongst the busy crowd at a buzzing winter market,

It’s the best place to be when Christmas arrives.

But, step to the side for a minute to see,

What it would be like to be me,

Consider what happens when the perspective flips,

When the best place is also the worst place to be.

The same place you know the glow of warmth and light,

I know to be cold and dark,

And the smell of spices borne on the frigid night air,

Churns my ravenous stomach, freezes me ’till no warmth remains.

I’ll not hear the excited squeals of my child, this year,

Only her cries of icy starvation,

And for someone to give her a gift this Christmas,

A true Santa would need to appear.

The hubbub of the crowd before me,

Passes by without noticing a thing,

They’re loud, uncaring, and pretend not to see,

As they step over our place on the street.

I’d give anything for the taste of a mince pie,

Or the taste of anything at all,

And a sausage for my child would be the best gift of all,

With a gulp of fresh water, just so she can survive at all.

So, this place may be glamorous enough,

If you can walk amongst the lights over there,

But think about how much the view could change,

And about the weight of perspective.

***

#bestplace #worstplace #Christmas #markets #cheer #celebration #food #hunger #perspective #christmastime #christmascheer #poem #poetry #life #streets #Santa #Serrenwrites #writing