Browsing tag: reflections

I recently had the privilege of interviewing a woman just a few years older than me, who runs a successful business and is on the cusp of going global.

Although in some ways we are similar – while most others in their late teens to early 20s were busy partying, I was fully independent, working all hours to make ends meet while doing my degree and she devoted her time to opening her first stores and starting a family.

I asked if she felt like she had missed out on anything, and how she managed to juggle all these demands at the same time.

But like, well, all other successful people, she told me it was about maximising the use of your time. “So many people don’t do anything with their evenings.”

Since reclaiming my weekends and evenings, I have to admit, I haven’t been doing anything all that amazing with that time. The first few weekends were just spent enjoying time with T that we hadn’t had in over a year. Going to the farmer’s market. Then planning and organising our Rarotonga and Wellington trips. Then dealing with car repairs, dentist appointments, motorbike stuff. (And of course, the usual – cooking, reading, music). Now I’m going to turn some of that time over to pre-wedding planning.

I’ve talked briefly before about how dreams change as you get older. And Stacking Pennies tackled a similar topic the other day, that of lost possibilities, because certain doors close with the passage of time.

The funny thing is, most of those previous aspirations I had are so much more attainable these days. Everyone seems to be writing and publishing their own books or ebooks, you don’t need a record label to become a star, and becoming a web designer seems to be another thing that everybody is doing.

Not long ago I attended an amateur musical for the first time in a very long while. Now, usually at the end of these performances I feel a bit of a pang; I’m not a performer by any stretch of the imagination, but I love the buzz that comes with being involved in a show (granted, it’s been six years since I had anything to do with one). I didn’t feel that at all this time. I watched as they spun each other through waltzes and tangos, and rather than wishing I had their mad skills, I was content simply to admire. Maybe it was the fact that the plot and songs were beyond dreadful. Or maybe it really was just me.

I think what I’m trying to say is, I don’t quite know what I want anymore. I know myself better than I ever have. I know where my weaknesses lie. I know where I draw the line.

Once I would have laughed at the thought of being a SAHP. Yet more and more, the idea appeals, at least part-time or at least for a few years. Once I would have laughed at the thought of even considering throwing financial security to the wind and going travelling for an extended period at some point down the line.

I suppose I just need to accept that my dreams are going to continue to evolve, even if I don’t know where they’re going just yet.

Image by notsogoodphotography via Flickr

Gem’s comment on my post Turning 23 > turning 13, in which I recalled some of the things I wanted most in the world 10 years ago, got me thinking.

“Perhaps it seems ridiculous because you now have a boy. Those are clearly desires of a single woman and ones that I held my entire life. Up until I got a boy. Then I scoffed at how ridiculous I used to be. Until I lost the boy. And then my desires went right back to my 13 year old desires….”

True, that’s one way to look at it. But for me, it really boiled down to general insecurity. All through my youth I wanted so desperately to be cool. It wasn’t impossible to be smart and popular but it certainly wasn’t easy and there was no way I would ever manage it. I didn’t have the looks, I didn’t have the personality, I didn’t have the money and I didn’t have the (parental) freedom.

I wanted the kind of charmed life depicted in Cleo and Dolly and the books I read. Summer romances. Lounging at the beach in bikinis, tossing my long, streaked curly hair, a bra I didn’t need to stuff, cute freckles instead of moles and sunspots. Friends who were as close as family, popping in for dinner, shopping together, sleepovers, doing each other’s nails. Instead I was stuck with glasses, my “weird” parents, unfashionable clothes (thank goodness for uniforms), pale skin that never tanned, and later on bad acne.

And of course, a lot of my angst also stemmed from unhappiness with how I looked. (Shock horror.) My body image issues weren’t about weight, but they certainly were about almost everything else. And I was just as concerned with female judgement, I think, as I was with my attractiveness to the opposite sex. I had this warped sense of reality, in hindsight. Thankfully, lot of the things I cared about then are no longer important to me. So I don’t have straight teeth. Perfect skin. Curly eyelashes. Ridiculous things I was at the time convinced would radically alter my life in their own right. Ah, adolescent delusions. Even if I was single, I now know they wouldn’t have. Even if I was single, the 23-year-old me is infinitely more comfortable in her own skin and far less concerned with fitting in. Nor do I have time to spend hours staring into a mirror and obsessing over my physical flaws. Bless you, real world. (And if I really believed my straight lashes were holding me back, I’d go out and buy mascara, but it’s far too much trouble for me to bother with whether it’s a glasses or contacts day.)

That said…it amazed me how getting a boyfriend actually changed everything. This is sad to say and sad to admit, but it was a good thing. I didn’t expect being in a relationship to boost my confidence so much, but it really proved to me once and for all that I really could be liked for me. That even in my ugly duckling youth I wasn’t completely repellent. And that was something I could carry with me forever, from then on.

So…while there are things that were great about adolescence, like our carefree camps out in the Lynfield bush, the rope swing over the edge of that cliff, $2 bus rides into town for an afternoon of mucking around, time to read as many books as I wanted…no way would I want to relive teenagehood and the microcosm of high school.

Yes, I just quoted a horrendous, no-good, very bad Britney song. No, I’m not apologising.

• I am the girl who feels that the label “fiancee” finally conveys the gravity of her relationship, but doesn’t feel old enough to be a “wife”
• I am the woman for whom packs of schoolgirls call “make way for the lady!” when running past, sweaty and out of breath

• The girl who who never have been voted MVP, but could have made MVTP
• The woman who wears heels maybe twice a year (a choice validated everytime she’s forced to stand on the bus)

• The girl who should never read long books, because she’ll make herself sick reading on the bus, trip over her feet while walking and reading, and be a zombie the next day at work after staying up to finish said book
• The woman who prefers discussing people to ideas, even if that makes her small-minded. there’s nothing more fascinating than the human psychology, and what’s an idea without people to dream them up and execute them?

• The girl who’s still a little afraid of the dark
• The woman who likes very little music pre-1970 or post-2000

Turning 23 has made me think long and hard about a lot of things. In particular, looking back at where I’ve come from. Ten years ago, I was obsessed with:

1. wanting my knees to NOT knock together when I ran
2. wanting to be the kind of girl who went out every Friday and Saturday night
3. wanting long curly lashes
4. wanting a thin nose
5. wanting curly hair
6. wanting better skin
7. wanting a boyfriend (not necessarily in that order. Probably in reverse, actually)

(Dude, for a nerd I was incredibly shallow.)

I was convinced life would be so much better if only these things could happen. Of course, it all seems perfectly ridiculous now with a decade of wisdom to draw on (har de har har).

Turning 23 > turning 13.