Jude Law and I are not societal equals.

In any other circumstance, my standing this close to Naomi Campell would result in her thick-necked Chechnyan security guards directing underlings to “release the hounds.”

Every once in a while, my job bellyflops me unceremoniously into the land the of the 1%, and after stuffing my face full of shrimp cocktail I’ve found it’s best making a hasty exit before it’s revealed that I don’t own, well, anything, much less the latest Tesla.

In this particular case, it’s myself, the aforementioned Jude Law and Naomi Campell, The Guy from One Direction and their respective security details, standing in a line, arms over shoulders, swaying along with classic after classic at the Stevie Wonder show in Hyde Park. On this evening in London, each of us is transported to our respective happy places where these songs comprise the soundtrack of irreplaceably magical things.

The Allen band played earlier in the evening, which is why I’m hilariously juxtaposed against people who moisturize regularly, but the thing about great art is it levels the playing field. It doesn’t matter if you’re, hypothetically, a mostly broke, entirely unknown musician just trying to punch his way underwater, or a global superstar - when we heard Superstition for the first time, it changed us. Great art makes us realize that, regardless of tax bracket, societally pressured gluten intolerance or whether you’re motoring triumphantly from A to B in a brand new Mercedes or limping between less fashionable letters in a fifteen year old Corolla, we’re all ultimately the same - we want to love, be loved and feel like we’re contributing to something greater than ourselves.

Jude Law and I are not societal equals, but Stevie Wonder renders us both childlike and unencumbered. There's hope for us, yet.