Ten Year Challenge

January. Some people see it as standing at the foot of a glorious ascent into the magnificent unknown. For others it’s a clean slate – a new start – maybe a chance to make amends to others, ourselves or the body. And for those like myself, it can seem like a leap into the yawning chasm of uncertainty as the friendly hand of the old year releases its grip. I seem to anticipate loss rather than gain. It seems safer than to be hurt or disappointed.

The start of the New Year brings the obligatory looking back at the previous 12 months. In addition, this year has had people reviewing the past decade as we move into the 20s.

Social media has had its new decade ‘thing’, with people posting pictures of themselves 10 years apart. For the young this is an often funny, sweet delve into the cute clothes, smiley faces and chubby cheeks of their childhood snaps. For me I found myself poring over Facebook photos from 2009/10, trying to pinpoint where my thoughts were at that time, whether the age spot on my face was smaller then – if I had fewer wrinkles.

In 2010 my children were still young – 12 and 7 . They needed me every day and the kitchen table was a hive of activity rather than the solitary work station it is today. Life revolved around school, dance classes, nit-combing, helping with homework and cuddles. I often felt exhausted and overwhelmed. As it all became too much to juggle, I took a two year break from work until my youngest had finished lower school.

2010 was also the time I parted ways with organised religion. I had spent the previous 20 years exploring every flavour of Christianity there was – and found myself back at vanilla. I needed space to ponder and ask questions – the answers of which I hadn’t yet found in the four walls of a church building or amongst the ‘other worldliness’ of the Happy Clappies. I was feeling let down by it all.

Some friends too appear to be cyclical. The school gate and church seem to account mostly for these. Friends I was close to a decade ago I hardly ever see today. I knew their landline number by heart and yet now I know nothing about their lives. Social media allows a brief connection to some, but those who never joined or who are concerned about privacy, have slipped away, along with my memory of their phone number.

So, what have I achieved in the past decade ? Sipping a ‘rather too heavy on the gin’ and tonic the other evening I had declared to someone who had popped up on Messenger, who, coincidently I hadn’t spoken to for a decade, that I hadn’t achieved anything since I last spoke to them. It feels like that sometimes when I look around at my physical surroundings. My kitchen drawers certainly feel that way as they bravely hang on in for another decade. In truth, though, I have achieved quite a bit – just not things that can be easily measured .

* In 2012 I started the job I am still in today, This brought me some new, wonderful friends and a wealth of new knowledge.

*I have learnt to question my faith and be happy with that, without losing it completely.

* I have done my very best to be a good Mum to my girls and today I have my eldest, a confident young woman, living , working and studying away from home and my youngest, happy at 6th form college.

* I took on a little rescue dog from Cyprus, who has brought so much joy to our family.

* I have learned to fight against myself less -to make a decision and stick to it and to not expect change from others. That has been the primary reason I feel more content than a decade ago.

* I am now honest about what I like and don’t like – I have learned to say ‘No’ and not seek the approval of others for my decisions. I probably like myself better than 10 years ago too.

The next decade will have different challenges. I am ageing – gah ! – and so are those I love dearly, including my little dog. The risk of unwanted change is greater as you age – especially when you cross the half-way line !

At least there is one thing I can nearly be sure of when this next decade ends. I won’t be counting more grey hairs – not visible ones anyway, and not on my scalp ! My lovely hairdresser sees to that.

Being a Square Peg in a Square Hole.

Conformity. From an early age it is something we are taught – to fit in, to be like others, to want to be like others. Society operates that way. It works on our deep-seated desire to belong, to act in a certain way, to meet approval , to want what we see is desirable that others have, or to own the things society expects us to have. A home, perhaps a car, a job – children maybe. It is a form of control, without which, I suppose, life as we know it wouldn’t function.

The majority of teens, today, will follow a pattern – hair styles that are deemed on trend, clothing from popular chain stores – nothing too ‘out there’, make-up inspired by YouTubers and of course the ubiquitous Sports logos. If you follow these rules you fit in. Those who don’t, risk the ridicule and suspicion of their peers. A sad but true fact. And many of us, as parents, buy into that need because we remember times when we, ourselves, didn’t fit in at one point and how that made us feel.

In my teenage years there was a trend to be ‘alternative’, which of course by becoming a trend, wasn’t at all. Depending on who you hung out with, you conformed. A punk rocker sitting in a pub on the King’s Road, London would barely have raised an eyebrow – but walking down a suburban high street may have rustled many a feather. Maybe you belonged to a group of Goths in your local town – but still you conformed to the group. To truly rebel you would have to have gone out with your black-eyed, spikey-haired friends, as a Nick Haywood/ Simon Le Bon look-alike to the local Goth drinking hole !

I am aware that I have always modified my behaviour, desires or appearance to fit in with others. Having to wear spectacles from the age of 6 to 13 was a huge dent in my confidence. I hated being ‘Four-Eyes’. When I hit my 13th Birthday I was told I could have contact lenses. Not the soft, comfortable sorts we wear today but lumps of glass that took forever to get used to. But it didn’t matter. I felt normal again.

School crazes are also part of this need to belong. When I was 8 we had a bizarre class craze of using Vicks inhalers. We would sit there unscrewing the things, sticking them up our nostrils then putting them back in our pockets or pencil cases – all day long !

Throughout my school life, there was always the girl that wore the best version of the school uniform, that I wanted to emulate. The hue and thread of the pullover would be slightly different, the skirt would be perfectly fashionable, the shirt collar just that little bit trendier than most school shirts. The rest of us would be playing catch-up.

Nowadays, I try to pretend not to bother about trends or brands, but I can’t help but get a feeling of gleeful satisfaction if I am bought something that modern society has declared desirable – a pair of Ugg boots or a Jo Malone perfume, or I treat myself to a lipstick from a high-end cosmetic company. It feels special. I feel I have bought a little piece of belonging to a different lifestyle. I remember my first pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses. They felt so good. I wore them with pride, happy to show off the logo. That sense of belonging to something better. Weird and somewhat embarrassing to admit !

In many ways, though, my life has not conformed. I dropped out of university. I married a foreigner. I have never had to worry about rent or a mortgage and I think that, in turn, has made me less ambitious. I turn my nose up at spending money on bettering our home and prefer, instead, to spend money on a holiday every year, much to my Dad’s bemusement as he observes the state of our kitchen floor and misted double-glazing.

Sometimes, I wish my home life and marriage was more like others. But of course we all think that. We all have the version we present to the outside world and the truthful reality, with all its nuances, known only to the people involved. And life has shown me that there is no right or wrong way to conduct a relationship, as long as both parties are happy.

It takes bravery and supreme self-confidence to truly buck the trend of ‘normal’ living – to not care what people think of you and your choices – to know that all that matters is that you believe in you – to not seek the approval of others. I still find myself wanting to be a people-pleaser and to fit in, but age and experience now allow me to feel more comfortable in my choices and not to make it my goal in life.

It’s OK to be different.

Heaven is ….

Sitting in the sun, but under a parasol, with a good book and a view of the sea. Hotel accommodation – but not all-inclusive and not in an isolated spot. Within a four-hour flight from the UK, but not the UK. Accompanied by my husband and two daughters. That is holiday heaven for me .

Sun and warmth are a key ingredient for my annual holiday. Partly, I think, because so many childhood holidays were spent in pursuit of that elusive bit of blue sky, when you could briefly predict being able to expose your flesh to the elements. Jumpers and cardigans were not an unusual sight on a beach, even in August. We were a hardy bunch and as a young child it didn’t bother me at all – in or out of the water. As I entered my teenage years we all wanted that Duran Duran ‘Rio’ suntan and unless we slavered on the innovative (at the time) Duo Tan it just wasn’t going to happen on a beach in Westward-Ho !

The Parasol is important. Firstly, it protects from the blazing heat of Southern European summers, yet it still allows some rays through. You still feel as if you are sitting in the sun. Along with my Factor 50, a lesson learned too late to save my mottled skin from the die-hard sunbathing of my youth, it allows enough protection to spend the day outside enjoying the sun’s rays without burning or over-heating.

Reading – I love good story-telling , so definitely not non-fiction. I always feel self-indulgent as I pack my reading selection for any holiday. These books represent that I will have nothing to do, nothing to feel responsible for. That I can choose to pick up any one of them to read, whenever I want, without feeling as if I should be doing something else. And no, not a Kindle. I tried that and discarded it. It has to be a proper book.

Having lived in one of the UK’s counties furthest away from the sea, the first sight of the sea has always filled me with a deep sense of joy, relief even – like being able to take a deep breath for the first time in ages. For us Inlanders, who didn’t play The First Person to See The Sea on their family holidays ? For me, no view surpasses the sight of sea meeting land and so it is of absolute importance for my summer holiday. And it has to be sea – I have dismissed the Italian Lakes for this very reason.

My house is at the end of a no-through road. I don’t see much from my front-facing kitchen window ; the odd delivery person, the postman, the neighbour next door or the inquisitive sort who thinks it’s a short cut to somewhere else then has to turn round and do the walk of shame back past my viewpoint. Hotel accommodation, therefore, is preferable to a villa holiday because I like to people-watch. I enjoy the hustle and bustle for a change – especially a hotel in a resort rather than one standing alone on a headland.

Villa holidays also mean self-catering – which involves trips to the supermarket and preparing food – even if you eat out once a day. Yes, you get more space – but space isn’t an issue for a week or fortnight when your holiday isn’t going to be blighted by bad weather. Villas can also have a tendency to be dark inside, partly to keep out the heat – but the result is rather gloomy . I like the white, brightly lit walls, silky sheets, and generic art work of hotel rooms, along with a balcony to sit out on in the evening -somewhere to spy on the world from above.

Half-board is my preferred meal option. All-inclusive can make you a prisoner of your hotel – and the quality of food, drink and the inevitable queuing frequently unappealing. However Bed and Breakfast isn’t enough. As a family we are poor at making choices – we make good choices but take too long to make them. This can have a detrimental effect on finding a restaurant for an evening meal. In the past we have finally sat down for a meal only for a younger eldest daughter to announce that she was not hungry, tired and wanted to go to bed. The meal was aborted. Half-board has solved this issue. We all know where we are going and at what time.

A four-hour flight maximum from the UK. Yes, it is limiting and I could be persuaded to travel further, but why for the holiday I enjoy ? All the necessary requirements are reachable in four hours, with enough variety there to keep it interesting. Why spend a whole day of my precious annual leave, sitting on a plane sipping room temperature white wine, hemmed in behind the seat in front for longer than is necessary ?

But the UK itself will not do. The uncertainty of the weather, the slightly sad and quirky seaside hotels with their carpeted bathrooms, the abundance of pebble beaches and freezing waters is only really week-end material. Then, it doesn’t matter if you have to pack a brolly and scuttle between teashops to avoid the downpours.

And finally – my preferred companions – my husband and girls. Yes, we argue, yes we like doing different things – but it works and we can be ourselves. No-one is going to feel offended – well not for long, anyway. Irritation can be addressed freely and still we shall all be talking at dinner time. Holidaying with others, whilst enjoyable, does require a bit too much compromise and biting of tongues to be a truly restful break.

So that’s the kind of holiday I would like this year. As my eldest daughter forges her own life now, the opportunities for just the four of us to be together are fewer and therefore more precious. I hope this year will be one of them.