Underwater Life
Part of my problem has always been the need to see failure around me. Success is empty, that is to say, it floats. Whereas everything you don't manage to achieve hangs around your hips like so much cake on someone without the special anorexia gene. Which, let me remind everyone, is not as common as the I-only-ever-eat-burgers-(it's-just-that-I-only-eat-them-once-a-week) brigade would have you believe.
My problem isn't a very nice one. Swimming in a sea of glistening, well-toned, perfect-skinned, flawless-smiled, high-aiming, social go-getters I'd just drown. That's not to say I choose my friends from a catalogue of losers and reprobates - if only I was that commendable - rather I just wish it on the people I know. No, that's a bit much even for me. I wish them every success in the world, it's just that when they achieve every success in the world I'm probably going to have to cry sick and stay home on the night of their awards ceremony.
Which brings us to Friday night. I like Caroline. I don't know her very well and certainly, if I did, I would probably like her a great deal less. She's a friend of a friend and through various pub meetings we've sort of found ourselves in each other's phone books, under "invite to gatherings". Caroline is about two years older than me and on about the rung of the ladder that I was a year ago. Except with more friends. It's a combination of these things that informed Friday. We were having a baby shower because Caroline had realised she was never going to get where she wanted so she might as well skip to the childrearing part. It was a big baby shower because Caroline had a lot of people to invite. Even if half the people she invited (plus guests) didn't turn up it would still have been a bigger crowd than I could hope to pull. Which is why I needed the implicit surrender of having a baby to remind me this wasn't an event that would fill my lungs with water.
Caroline was comfortable where she was. Literally speaking. Her boyfriend was indeed very successful, at a mere three years her senior, and so she lived in not only relative luxury but in many cases actual luxury. The reception room in their two bed semi was enough to fit at least twenty-one. I counted. They managed to seat at least fifteen. I arrived in time to grab the last chair (as had always been my skill, since childhood) and my date for the evening, the ever faithful Ash, sat loyally at my feet. As I expect he thinks would be his place for the rest of time. Some people have lower sights than others I guess.
The thing that gets me most is having children. You need to be comfortable with what you've achieved to bring a life into the world. Most of the time children either get spoiled or punished in accordance with how their parents feel about their childhood. If they arrived today, my children would most certainly be punished for how I was raised.
That's not to say I had a bad childhood, simply that I wasn't happy with it. It's given me a mild but not insignificant chip. I can be quite bitter towards children who will never have to go a week without food. By which I don't mean no food at all - there was always something to eat in our house - it's just sometimes "corned beef and rice" or "chopped bacon and rice" three days in a row isn't much of a choice at all (I always rejected corned beef and rice, even in favour of nothing at all). Rather, I tend to level my distaste at the children who will never go a day in their life without running a risk worse than running out of basil.
I often ponder how my children would be raised. Would I give them everything I wish I had? Regular meals out, holidays abroad, holidays inland, drive them to school, pick them up? Listening to people talking about childhoods like that now just fills me with a sinking dismay. I don't feel sorry for them, although I'm sure that's not a feeling absent from my thoughts, I just don't want to know. I was surrounded by kids like that back when I was that age, hearing it again now just brings back that sinking feeling, that feeling of looking up through gallons and gallons of seawater at refractions of the sun. It doesn't take much success to be more success. You can drown in a puddle if you're low enough. Would I want to raise kids that will do that to someone else? How much worse, if at all, would it be to raise them to feel like that around their peers? A healthy balance of the two, to my mind, would be best. I just don't think I'm the right judge of what defines a healthy balance. Will I ever be able to happily bring a child into the world knowing that when I send it off to fend for itself it'll spend whole dinners talking about the food it had when it lived in France for three months?
Caroline's child will be spoilt, that much is obvious. She isn't happy with where she finally gave up on her dreams and her child will be made to feel that everything is its birthright. Her. Her birthright. The child will live all her mother's dream vicariously. Extra money will be spent on tuition if she isn't good enough at what she wants to be good at, extra curricular activities will build her character, her parents will have a wealth contacts in whatever field is appropriate by the time she has her first job interview. She will be popular, she'll never want for company. Indeed, every single one of the people at the event on Friday will be taught to love her as their own. All these things will come as standard from the moment Caroline's lithe hips one-final-big-push her out into the world. It's not up to me to begrudge her the bubble her young life will exist within, all I can hope is that while she's up there floating me and mine are not in the same pool gasping for breath. As long as that's not the case, I can wish her well, and hope her bubble stays forever intact.
My problem isn't a very nice one. Swimming in a sea of glistening, well-toned, perfect-skinned, flawless-smiled, high-aiming, social go-getters I'd just drown. That's not to say I choose my friends from a catalogue of losers and reprobates - if only I was that commendable - rather I just wish it on the people I know. No, that's a bit much even for me. I wish them every success in the world, it's just that when they achieve every success in the world I'm probably going to have to cry sick and stay home on the night of their awards ceremony.
Which brings us to Friday night. I like Caroline. I don't know her very well and certainly, if I did, I would probably like her a great deal less. She's a friend of a friend and through various pub meetings we've sort of found ourselves in each other's phone books, under "invite to gatherings". Caroline is about two years older than me and on about the rung of the ladder that I was a year ago. Except with more friends. It's a combination of these things that informed Friday. We were having a baby shower because Caroline had realised she was never going to get where she wanted so she might as well skip to the childrearing part. It was a big baby shower because Caroline had a lot of people to invite. Even if half the people she invited (plus guests) didn't turn up it would still have been a bigger crowd than I could hope to pull. Which is why I needed the implicit surrender of having a baby to remind me this wasn't an event that would fill my lungs with water.
Caroline was comfortable where she was. Literally speaking. Her boyfriend was indeed very successful, at a mere three years her senior, and so she lived in not only relative luxury but in many cases actual luxury. The reception room in their two bed semi was enough to fit at least twenty-one. I counted. They managed to seat at least fifteen. I arrived in time to grab the last chair (as had always been my skill, since childhood) and my date for the evening, the ever faithful Ash, sat loyally at my feet. As I expect he thinks would be his place for the rest of time. Some people have lower sights than others I guess.
The thing that gets me most is having children. You need to be comfortable with what you've achieved to bring a life into the world. Most of the time children either get spoiled or punished in accordance with how their parents feel about their childhood. If they arrived today, my children would most certainly be punished for how I was raised.
That's not to say I had a bad childhood, simply that I wasn't happy with it. It's given me a mild but not insignificant chip. I can be quite bitter towards children who will never have to go a week without food. By which I don't mean no food at all - there was always something to eat in our house - it's just sometimes "corned beef and rice" or "chopped bacon and rice" three days in a row isn't much of a choice at all (I always rejected corned beef and rice, even in favour of nothing at all). Rather, I tend to level my distaste at the children who will never go a day in their life without running a risk worse than running out of basil.
I often ponder how my children would be raised. Would I give them everything I wish I had? Regular meals out, holidays abroad, holidays inland, drive them to school, pick them up? Listening to people talking about childhoods like that now just fills me with a sinking dismay. I don't feel sorry for them, although I'm sure that's not a feeling absent from my thoughts, I just don't want to know. I was surrounded by kids like that back when I was that age, hearing it again now just brings back that sinking feeling, that feeling of looking up through gallons and gallons of seawater at refractions of the sun. It doesn't take much success to be more success. You can drown in a puddle if you're low enough. Would I want to raise kids that will do that to someone else? How much worse, if at all, would it be to raise them to feel like that around their peers? A healthy balance of the two, to my mind, would be best. I just don't think I'm the right judge of what defines a healthy balance. Will I ever be able to happily bring a child into the world knowing that when I send it off to fend for itself it'll spend whole dinners talking about the food it had when it lived in France for three months?
Caroline's child will be spoilt, that much is obvious. She isn't happy with where she finally gave up on her dreams and her child will be made to feel that everything is its birthright. Her. Her birthright. The child will live all her mother's dream vicariously. Extra money will be spent on tuition if she isn't good enough at what she wants to be good at, extra curricular activities will build her character, her parents will have a wealth contacts in whatever field is appropriate by the time she has her first job interview. She will be popular, she'll never want for company. Indeed, every single one of the people at the event on Friday will be taught to love her as their own. All these things will come as standard from the moment Caroline's lithe hips one-final-big-push her out into the world. It's not up to me to begrudge her the bubble her young life will exist within, all I can hope is that while she's up there floating me and mine are not in the same pool gasping for breath. As long as that's not the case, I can wish her well, and hope her bubble stays forever intact.