If there really was a Diagon Alley somewhere in the other realm of reality that featured Ollivander's wand shop, and I could walk in, purchase one, wave it around and change my life by chanting a few magic spells, I often wonder what I would change.
The main problem with me, is that even if such a feat were possible, I'd be happy for a while yet would eventually yearn for something different. I simply can't decide on who I want to be. My role models change every so often, as do my career plans, passions and goals. I've had four main 'visions' of myself in the future, each appealing to me at different times..
The glamour girl: As a young teen I fancied myself as a high flying journalist – I'd always enjoyed writing, and my head was aflame with visions of a glamorous lifestyle, grilling politicians on foreign policy, hobnobbing with celebrities, living the dream... Of course I know this fantasy is reality reserved only for the top journalists, or editors, and over time in a typically over-analytical student way, I have increasingly become very sceptical of the media and all the bullshit it throws around, enlightened partly by the legend that is Charlie Brooker. Even so, I still fantasise about being a stylish, modern, high flying woman - respected, yet friendly, confident, self assured, working in the city somewhere. Oddly enough these thoughts pop into my head after reading an issue of Vogue or watching Sex And The City. But then I think - wouldn't it be increasingly difficult to uphold this glam lifestyle and persona every single day - would I really be myself? I quite like dashing to uni in sweatpants and mooching around in Ugg Boots. And then I think of the inevitable bitchy types that come hand in hand with this kind of career, and the fantasy's previously glowing allure subsides. Until the next episode.
The comfortable matriarch: I once idolised Nigella Lawson; successful, intelligent, wealthy, not to mention beautiful with curves in all the right places (that I envy with a passion!). I loved the way she made me feel when I watched her cookery programme. It is set in her actual kitchen in her London mansion, and despite its grandiose granite worktops and plethora of kitchen accoutrements the walls are dotted with little twinkling fairy lights, and the atmosphere is cosy and comforting, a place of solace and domestic sanctuary where worldly problems cease to exist, the biggest possible catastrophe being an unrisen souffle. Inspired by this amazing woman, I began to throw myself into cooking, fantasising about becoming a food writer or critic, spending my days pottering about the kitchen entertaining guests, and going to the best restaurants and being treated like a VIP. I began spending more on food than on socialising, and surprise surprise, far from being a beautiful hourglass like Nigella, I put the weight on my tummy. I have yet to shift this - and my souffle never did rise.
The carefree treehugger: In my first year of uni, after an impromptu trip to Newquay I became obsessed with surfing. I dreamed of living in a shack on a gorgeous palm fringed beach, perhaps owning a small watersports shop to pay the bills, but completely devoting my life to nature, surfing, conservation projects and the like. I continually listened to sixties music and wished I had been around in that era, pretended I was living in 60s California. During this phase I also really got into boho chic (elements of which are still in my general style now). Eventually I realised that this probably was not a viable career choice, as contrary to my romanticised vision of living on a beach, like a perpetual holiday, it would probably end up with me being a complete loser, stoned out of my mind lying on a beach in rags. And I do want to be successful.
The punk rocker: After I received a new guitar for Christmas a couple of years ago, I was in love with it, and still am to this day. I have had fantasies of fronting a band, or becoming a songwriter...someone cool and rebellious like Joan Jett or Blondie - playing gigs, amassing a fan base, pouring my herart and souk into melody and lyrics, being critically acclaimed...but then I remembered, there's no privacy for celebrities nowadays. And I'd hate to be on the run from the paparazzi everytime I dashed out to get a pint of milk from Sainsbury's.
I think the root of my predicament boils down to the fact that I haven't found my passion yet. I have many hobbies - the piano and guitar, cooking, learning languages, reading, writing (although those two at face value are pretty much expected of any literate person), but I don't
Since then, many careers have fleetingly taken my fancy - speech and language therapist (not patient enough), novelist (not good at writing novels - a fairly large flaw), record producer (at a loss as to how I could break into the industry, and I hate all the music in the charts now anyway), teacher (again, lack of patience). It seems that with every career path I think of, my brain has a bank of discouraging reasons that pummel the notion to pulp. And I move on.
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
introduction: time for a change
:Ensconced in a swathe of soft sheets and duvet covers, my eyes pricked open as I gently arose from a dreamless slumber. They focused on the lilac walls of the familiar room, the bedroom I had awoken in every day since childhood, and fell on the bedside clock. 2:40pm.
Suddenly, my heart fell. Another wasted day. I mentally kicked myself for staying up so late, I'd promised myself the previous day that this would be the last time. I hadn't even been doing anything constructive, such as working, or going out socially. I'd been glued to the screen of my laptop until 4am, idly surfing the net in search of anything remotely interesting to read, until my eyes became so heavy they forced themselves to close, my brain still whirring with action. My life had become a neverending cycle of late nights, waking up in the afternoon, pouring myself a bowl of cereal at 3 in the afternoon, reading trashy chicklit and dated magazines, avoiding university work at all costs, watching crap TV, surfing the net, and going to bed again. I hadn't exercised in weeks, my diet was appalling (boredom led me directly to the fridge), I was disinterested in any family outings, and even the sight of a beautiful balmy spring day outside was not enough to rouse me to take a walk. I had become a recluse.
Granted, it was the Easter holidays. At uni, things were quite different as I had some form of routine - lectures, however sporadic they were, at least kept me occupied for 8 hours of the week and the work surrounding them kept me in the library for a further 8 (OK, I lie, a further 2), and every night something seemed to be going on. Plus I lived in a house of nine in which it was impossible to sit and do nothing; my room was on the ground floor and essentially doubled as the living room (the main living room was an obstacle course of games consoles and moulding pizza boxes which nobody could be bothered to clear) cue a constant stream of people coming in with their friends and lounging about, making themselves at home. In contrast, home was a quiet, tranquil place in the heart of rural suburbia, lazy lawnmowers and tweeting birds the only noises - the perfect environment for both the lethargic day to day activities I was doing, and reflection on my life (or lack of it) which resulted in panic and a heavy feeling of failure. This is not where I wanted to be at 20.
I suppose you could argue that I could have got a job, made myself useful, contributed to society in some shape or form. But I had enough money left over from my Christmas bar job to sustain myself until the summer, and I'd deliberately set aside these four glorious weeks of holiday for serious revision and reading. Unfortunately, I am a pathetic sucker for procrastination...I'd glanced over a few textbooks and written a few paltry notes, but the amount I had to do before the May exams was so alarming I found it easier to assuage my fears by the old method: sticking my head in the proverbial sand and pretending they weren't a month away. A childish way of dealing things, but nevertheless the easiest.
I do enjoy my degree. Of course I do. Okay, it wasn't my first choice - after a disastrous History A-level paper that left me with frustrating 2 marks off a B on Results Day, I had called up the university in a devastated, blind panic to try and shoe horn my way into the course I had applied for (English Literature, expected AAB) to be told that it was chock a block, but a similar course had places. My insurance choice was at Cardiff, but I so desperately wanted to go to Leeds that I snapped it up. Admittedly it should be a Bachelor of Science rather than arts, with all the physics, logic and biology involved - waffly essays are my forte, not questions with right or wrong answers. Aside from that, I'm constantly asked: what are you going to do with this degree? I dread that question. I've had a decade to properly think about it, and I still don't know what I want to do. I cruised through life, living for the moment, not worrying about my future. But the realisation has come that I'm now officially a 'twenty-something', with my graduation date hurtling towards me faster than I could have ever imagined. At school, the immediate future was intact, already decided for me - start the new academic year, attend class, do the homework, hurdle over the end of year exams and progress to the next year. Uni was the next logical step in the education system, but still a far off time in the future. A time where I would of course be sure of what I wanted to do, and would be striving towards that goal. It's like I've come to the first real crossroads of my life. I've been sauntering aimlessly down the highway along with everyone else, through school, through uni, and, come next year, the road will suddenly split off into a billion different directions. I feel like I'm in the crotch of that metaphorical plum tree (or was it a fig tree?) in Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar, where academia has come to a sorry end and I am free to pick any fruit (i.e. career path) I desire...yet without knowing what I desire I'm wasting the time as the seconds ticks away, stuck in the rut, unable to make any decisions, worried of dipping my toe in the ocean that is the real world, fearful of failure, willing myself to be someone else, someone more headstrong and nonchalant, while the juicy, while the juicy fruits, full of promise and potential shrivel to dead, dry husks.
I can't help this feeling of no control. I've tried explaining to my mum and she's replied with pithy little epigrams from some self help book such as 'Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can'. And then she'll look at me with a smug grin, like she made it up. I often snub the self help books she reads sometimes. Don't get me wrong, she's not a looper. She's a therapist, and she finds them interesting to read.
Anyway, on this particular spring afternoon, after trudging downstairs and eating my usual bowl of Cheerios, I noticed a book on the counter. Out of idle curiosity, and for the sake of something to read while eating breakfast, I skim read the blurb. Weirdly, I didn't scoff and roll my eyes as was the usual procedure - I was intrigued. It is called Awaken The Giant Within by Anthony Robbins, and I immediately sat down to read the first chapter. It supposedly can help the person who's lost their way, enabling them to stop external factors in deciding their futures, not just relying on luck or blaming circumstance for the way things turn out.
So I'm setting myself a challenge. By this Christmas I'm going to be different. I'm going to stop living like a slob and I'm going to take control of my mental, emotional, physical and financial destiny, just like it promises on the front cover of the book. I'm going to be more motivated, more self assured, and above all, happier.
I plan to document my progress in this little blog, chapter by chapter, as a means of self reflection, perhaps as a source of motivation, and mostly for catharsis. I'd be delighted if you followed the journey with me.
Suddenly, my heart fell. Another wasted day. I mentally kicked myself for staying up so late, I'd promised myself the previous day that this would be the last time. I hadn't even been doing anything constructive, such as working, or going out socially. I'd been glued to the screen of my laptop until 4am, idly surfing the net in search of anything remotely interesting to read, until my eyes became so heavy they forced themselves to close, my brain still whirring with action. My life had become a neverending cycle of late nights, waking up in the afternoon, pouring myself a bowl of cereal at 3 in the afternoon, reading trashy chicklit and dated magazines, avoiding university work at all costs, watching crap TV, surfing the net, and going to bed again. I hadn't exercised in weeks, my diet was appalling (boredom led me directly to the fridge), I was disinterested in any family outings, and even the sight of a beautiful balmy spring day outside was not enough to rouse me to take a walk. I had become a recluse.
Granted, it was the Easter holidays. At uni, things were quite different as I had some form of routine - lectures, however sporadic they were, at least kept me occupied for 8 hours of the week and the work surrounding them kept me in the library for a further 8 (OK, I lie, a further 2), and every night something seemed to be going on. Plus I lived in a house of nine in which it was impossible to sit and do nothing; my room was on the ground floor and essentially doubled as the living room (the main living room was an obstacle course of games consoles and moulding pizza boxes which nobody could be bothered to clear) cue a constant stream of people coming in with their friends and lounging about, making themselves at home. In contrast, home was a quiet, tranquil place in the heart of rural suburbia, lazy lawnmowers and tweeting birds the only noises - the perfect environment for both the lethargic day to day activities I was doing, and reflection on my life (or lack of it) which resulted in panic and a heavy feeling of failure. This is not where I wanted to be at 20.
I suppose you could argue that I could have got a job, made myself useful, contributed to society in some shape or form. But I had enough money left over from my Christmas bar job to sustain myself until the summer, and I'd deliberately set aside these four glorious weeks of holiday for serious revision and reading. Unfortunately, I am a pathetic sucker for procrastination...I'd glanced over a few textbooks and written a few paltry notes, but the amount I had to do before the May exams was so alarming I found it easier to assuage my fears by the old method: sticking my head in the proverbial sand and pretending they weren't a month away. A childish way of dealing things, but nevertheless the easiest.
I do enjoy my degree. Of course I do. Okay, it wasn't my first choice - after a disastrous History A-level paper that left me with frustrating 2 marks off a B on Results Day, I had called up the university in a devastated, blind panic to try and shoe horn my way into the course I had applied for (English Literature, expected AAB) to be told that it was chock a block, but a similar course had places. My insurance choice was at Cardiff, but I so desperately wanted to go to Leeds that I snapped it up. Admittedly it should be a Bachelor of Science rather than arts, with all the physics, logic and biology involved - waffly essays are my forte, not questions with right or wrong answers. Aside from that, I'm constantly asked: what are you going to do with this degree? I dread that question. I've had a decade to properly think about it, and I still don't know what I want to do. I cruised through life, living for the moment, not worrying about my future. But the realisation has come that I'm now officially a 'twenty-something', with my graduation date hurtling towards me faster than I could have ever imagined. At school, the immediate future was intact, already decided for me - start the new academic year, attend class, do the homework, hurdle over the end of year exams and progress to the next year. Uni was the next logical step in the education system, but still a far off time in the future. A time where I would of course be sure of what I wanted to do, and would be striving towards that goal. It's like I've come to the first real crossroads of my life. I've been sauntering aimlessly down the highway along with everyone else, through school, through uni, and, come next year, the road will suddenly split off into a billion different directions. I feel like I'm in the crotch of that metaphorical plum tree (or was it a fig tree?) in Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar, where academia has come to a sorry end and I am free to pick any fruit (i.e. career path) I desire...yet without knowing what I desire I'm wasting the time as the seconds ticks away, stuck in the rut, unable to make any decisions, worried of dipping my toe in the ocean that is the real world, fearful of failure, willing myself to be someone else, someone more headstrong and nonchalant, while the juicy, while the juicy fruits, full of promise and potential shrivel to dead, dry husks.
I can't help this feeling of no control. I've tried explaining to my mum and she's replied with pithy little epigrams from some self help book such as 'Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can'. And then she'll look at me with a smug grin, like she made it up. I often snub the self help books she reads sometimes. Don't get me wrong, she's not a looper. She's a therapist, and she finds them interesting to read.
Anyway, on this particular spring afternoon, after trudging downstairs and eating my usual bowl of Cheerios, I noticed a book on the counter. Out of idle curiosity, and for the sake of something to read while eating breakfast, I skim read the blurb. Weirdly, I didn't scoff and roll my eyes as was the usual procedure - I was intrigued. It is called Awaken The Giant Within by Anthony Robbins, and I immediately sat down to read the first chapter. It supposedly can help the person who's lost their way, enabling them to stop external factors in deciding their futures, not just relying on luck or blaming circumstance for the way things turn out.
So I'm setting myself a challenge. By this Christmas I'm going to be different. I'm going to stop living like a slob and I'm going to take control of my mental, emotional, physical and financial destiny, just like it promises on the front cover of the book. I'm going to be more motivated, more self assured, and above all, happier.
I plan to document my progress in this little blog, chapter by chapter, as a means of self reflection, perhaps as a source of motivation, and mostly for catharsis. I'd be delighted if you followed the journey with me.
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