It's a week out of my 49th birthday and I'm not overly enthusiastic about the whole notion. Truth be known it's been a while since I was excited about any birthday, but less so this one. My mother would say " Pfft it's just a number" and yes that's quite true. But to me a birthday is a lot more. It's a yearly self assessment time. It's a taking " stock on where I'm at in life" time. It doesn't have to be, but to me there is no getting out of it because I like accountability. And a year out of 50, I think everyone needs accountability.But where does one start and how does one work out "accountability"?
I'm a big fan of those letters that celebrities write to their sixteen year old selves. I find them amusing to say the least, because they show a clear division between expectation and reality. So...let's give this a go.
At age 16 I was just finishing school. Due to my "smart bum" migrant status I was the youngest in the year. I had a small set of good friends who would drop everything to help me, if I needed it, even now. I wasn't popular but everyone knew me. I was the girl with the very long wog surname, which they all used to sing to the tune of the Mexican hat dance. I was loud and very naive with a reputation for sneezing 60 times in a row. I was a school goody goody, and was rewarded accordingly at valedictory with a prestigious school goody goody award. This earned me a place on the honour boards, and the right to tease my nieces about their need to aspire to my lofty heights.
Being the first child is always hard because parents are unskilled and learn parenting through you. I had a limited social life but somehow still managed to get my heart broken. I was self conscious, overweight and European hairy. When I look back on my photos at that age, I actually looked better than I thought I did. At my school one did not wear makeup. You could have tried, but the nuns and my mother would have scraped it off me, if I had money to buy it in the first place. I remember looking on in awe when a new girl in our final year, blatantly broke all the rules and wore a fully made up face every day. I ached to have her spunk.
Because it was expected of me and in reality I knew nothing else, I did my homework and a 16 year old's version of studying. I equated hard work with success and learnt a hard lesson when my leaving score was just above average. There would be no medicine for me, but I still got into a prestigious university and developed new ambitions which varied from the male sort to an actual career. I think deep down I assumed I would be a kept, rich woman, so it came as a shock to realise that in the real world, out of the security of an educational establishment, one has to work in a job of some description.
Jokingly I would wonder if I would be a butcher, a baker or a candlestick maker? I toyed with scientist, dentist and finally ( dismayed that my mega rich husband was yet to find me), settled on teacher. For the first time in my life I started achieving excellence. I was hooked but confused. Me...a teacher? I never saw myself as being a teacher.
I also never saw myself leaving the city and never for a moment thought my overly strict parents would allow it. But they did. Hell, they even drove me to my new home four and a half hours away and kicked me out of the nest. It felt odd but I was officially grown up and fending for myself.
Fast forward to today and my title of expectations versus reality.
I never expected to be a teacher but I did and I became a good one. I taught for 25 years and loved every minute of it. I never expected to continue to live in the country, but I did and 27 years later still call it home. I was brought up to believe I'd marry a doctor, a lawyer, a professional like my Dad. I was sort of right. I married a professional nice guy with a big heart and oodles of patience. He is an ex farmer still working in an industry related to farming. Me married to an ex farmer? Who would have thought it....I used to think all agriculture students at uni were closet weirdos and yet I married
one born and bred on the land, and love him to bits.
The one expectation that became reality was having children - two girls. For a while I was sad that I had no son. My husband being the only boy out of seven, needed a son. He needed to do boy things. I felt I had let him down and his family down as the family name would die out with my ineptitude. Such is life. You don't get to choose your kids unless you're operating out of a laboratory. They choose you.
While my children were growing up, I was accused by some of placing too high expectations on my children. Yes, apparently expecting kids to do well at school, finish extra courses you've paid for, have a conscience and an awareness of social justice AND have a life that did not involve drugs and alcohol was too harsh. ( insert loud raspberry noises).
Let's get back to the accountability part.
One of the few things I remember from university is Maslow's hierarchy of needs. For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, here's a diagram someone prepared earlier.
Here is the link if you are interested in pursuing this further . It's really interesting.
You can have expectations in life and you can work your way up Maslow's triangle, satisfying need after need. But reality has a habit of messing with this - illness, divorce, job loss etc can cause fluctuation between levels.
My forties have been the worst years of my life due to severe health issues, career disruption and financial strain. Too say this was not on the expectation list as a naive 16 year old or a bumbling " what shall I do with my life" uni student is an understatement. Do I then put a cross on my accountability list? At the ripe old age of almost 49 my health is ****, my career is in tatters and money is a precious resource we are learning to stretch. Well I could load up on the crosses, but what's the point?
When I look at the triangle I am reminded that in reality I HAVE been to the top. I have accepted my
life's challenges and I know I have skills to solve my problems. I may feel bad that my life feels so crappy, but it really isn't all bad.
life's challenges and I know I have skills to solve my problems. I may feel bad that my life feels so crappy, but it really isn't all bad.
So here's my accountability list:- Physiological needs - mostly met. Sleep could be better but that's why God gave us doctors who prescribe drugs.
- Safety - apart from morality and property... in tatters.
- Rest of levels - not bad.
| Real state of flux happening here! Time to get back to basics and concentrate on those safety issues. |
Moral of my story - I'm 49 and I grew up with expectations placed on me by others and by myself. Not many of those expectations have been met AND THAT'S OK because reality presented other situations I couldn't possibly have envisaged. Ten years ago this would have been the end of me, but at the ripe old age of almost 49, I've resigned myself to the fact that expectations and reality do not necessarily go hand in hand.
And I THINK I'm OK with that.
Till next time...xxx
 |
| Me - age 48 and 51 weeks |
Article written for Blusky Collective, a fabulous new website which went live this week. Please check them out!
https://bluskycollective.wordpress.com/2015/06/26/459/
Posts
