Since J’s suicide, I’ve tried very hard to do more scary things. I don’t mean dangerous or extreme stuff. Just things that scare me, are outside of my comfort zone.
I’ve spoken before about my dating life. Update: it hasn’t improved since writing that post. I still live in the sticks, in a village that hasn’t even got a pub or a shop, let alone a social life.
What has changed is that now the boys are getting older, they’re less keen to do things with me. They like having me around – mainly for snacks and to find things for them. In the case of my youngest I am also forever taxiing him between our village and the one next door, where all his friends live.
Last Christmas day I found myself feeling a bit lost. In between feedings and gift-giving, they’d scurried off to their rooms to game or chat to their mates. Completely unprepared for this, I sat on the sofa downstairs wondering what to do with myself. I think I even ended up doing some weeding in the garden.
Years before she died, my mum told me to say yes to things. To try new experiences. Since J’s suicide and that stark reminder of our mortality, I have tried to embrace this. It’s partly a way of broadening my horizons, pushing myself out of my comfort zone (which let’s face it is mainly walking the dogs and doing jigsaw puzzles). But it’s also a way of trying to work out who I am again.
Having kids, is of course fantastic and rewarding and all that good stuff. But I won’t be the first person to say that it also sucks your identity out of you. In the beginning you are a vessel. You make the baby (the boys still squirm when I tell them I grew them inside my body). Then you are its feeding machine. The needing continues, but changes over time.
Then one day you get to where I am. They are just about to turn thirteen and fifteen and the needing is starting to back off a little. It’s not like I have suddenly got masses of time or freedom. I am still mum, cook, therapist, chauffeur, cleaner, homework-police, provider of snacks and sole dog-walker. It’s more that I’ve forgotten how to be me when I step away from all this. The result is: I am a bit lost.
So I’ve done a few things on a whim. Some of the things have been awkward, scary, embarrassing. But some of them have been great. And even when they haven’t worked out, I feel happy that I tried, that I put myself out there.
I love a list, so here you go:
Volunteering at a local charity shop. I’m still doing this nearly a year later. I go in once a week and look up items to send to the Ebay team. I add them to an online portal and box them up to be collected. While doing it, I chat to the store manager and one of the regular assistants.
We all get excited when something interesting comes up. We sent off a pair of brand new Louis Vuitton sliders, in the original bag. They retail at over £500. They were either fakes (though very convincing) or someone was that rich they couldn’t be bothered to sell them themselves? We’ll never know.
Volunteering at Park Run: This was one of my less successful ventures. I thought since I can’t run any more, this might be fun. The people were all lovely and the other volunteers were very friendly. I’m just not designed to stand in one spot for that long, awkwardly shouting: “Well done!” And “Keep Going!” at the exhausted runners as they went by.
I couldn’t work out how to space out the cries of forced encouragement for groups of runners. When you’d already told the first runner that they were doing great, had the runner at the back of the pack also heard? Or did you have to shout again, just for them? I didn’t go back.
Greek dancing. I used to do this at Greek school and loved it. Then at fifteen I moved to an international school and decided it wasn’t cool any more. So recently I had a look to see if there was anywhere local I could go.
I found a group of people in Cambridge who meet up every Friday evening. It isn’t really a lesson, more just joining in. All the instructions are in a hundred-mile-an-hour Greek. I love it. The first time I went, my brain was exhausted afterwards, from trying to remember the steps. Now I go every Friday I don’t have the kids.
Auditioning to be an extra in a film. I saw an advert on Facebook and decided to go. It was in London, on a very hot day. I didn’t get there until 11am. The queue was already doubling up and down the road leading up to the studio. It was fun chatting to everyone else in the queue.
When it was my turn, I was measured, then photographed (full figure and close up). I also had to walk up to a camera and say a line. I was so nervous I had to do it three times. And then I went home.
I’ve had some availability checks and the original dates have moved. I’m very pragmatic about it, it seems unlikely that I will be chosen. But I felt elated afterwards, and pleased that I’d done it.
Speed dating. This one was as bad as I’d feared. After the fiasco of online dating, I decided to go along to a speed dating event simply to cross it of a list. I’ve done it, now I never need to do it again. Of course I was nervous. And it was excruciatingly awkward. Especially doing it sober.
The men seemed to fall into two categories: painfully introverted IT managers or geezers with red faces and white shirts unbuttoned to0 far down at the collar. But I did meet another single woman, and we ended up chatting until late after the event.
With most of my friends being married or paired up, I now have someone to do stuff with. So it was worth going as far as I’m concerned.
Choir: On Monday I went to try out a community choir. I had low expectations, and I mean, low. I’d seen an advert on a local Facebook group and in the spirit of trying new things, decided to go along.
I haven’t sung in a choir since school. What I imagined it was going to be: stuffy hall, nobody else in my age group, boring repetitive songs. The reality was the polar opposite: a diverse group of all ages (though mainly women), challenging songs from the off-set and a charismatic and hilarious choir leader. I came out absolutely buzzing, and excited for the following week. I signed up for the full term the following day.
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This weekend I broke my own rule and said no to a scary thing. The friend I made at the speed dating event invited me to a daytime disco, from four in the afternoon, until nine. When she messaged I had just returned home after choir and was still elated. “Yes!” I replied over-enthusiastically.
When I woke up the next morning my heart sank when I realised what I’d agreed to. Some context: I was six foot tall by the time I was 14. I also grew up in a country not known for its population’s height. They pointed at me in the street, laughing. They called me a giraffe or likened me to a particular basket ball player who was over seven foot tall. I was so self-conscious that I am still trying to correct my posture from years of slouching to make myself look smaller.
Dancing is an activity that brings all that self-consciousness back. Alcohol used to be my coping mechanism. So while I’m building up my confidence with all these activities, I don’t think I’m quite ready for this one. I may get there one day, but for the moment I’m filing it away under ‘truly terrifying things’ that I’m allowed to say no to.
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