Au revoir

Getting the chance to do some actual thinking, in these overloaded days, happens so much less than any of us would like to admit. With a week away under the azure skies of a Corsican beach, I actually had the luxury to do just that – and read a couple of books into the bargain. One of those books, Think Like a Freak, by the supernerds at Freakonomics, was about, among other feats of logic, the power of quitting – that by giving something up, you can cut your losses and free up time for something else, something potentially better, probably not a lot different, and possibly worse. It suggested tossing a coin – the idea that you are likely to be no worse off by inciting a change, but possibly happier for trying, gave me the chance to think about things that have been weighing on my mind, and take a decision that may seem random but is more likely already half thought out.

Among other things – my work life balance, my relationships with the kids, Tom and the outside world, how I can be more fulfilled, what else I should do with my life – stuff that always preoccupies me on holidays when I should be sunburned and hungover, I’ve been questioning the value of this blog. What do I gain from it (a platform, a chance to sound off, the occasional plaudit) and what do I lose (privacy, time, occasionally my dignity), and whether or not it’s worthwhile to continue, or to cut my losses and try something new.

And so I tossed the coin, asking it whether I should continue in my marriage, quit my job, or move on from my blog. I also asked it whether or not I should have another baby (Tom and I discussed vasectomies at length), but since this is not quitting something, I’m not sure it really counts.

In the meantime, other changes have been afoot, from cutting my working hours, to the kids growing up a bit, I’ve moved on a lot in the time since I started writing it – from venting the frustrations of raising children – in particular my son, who was diagnosed on the autism spectrum, of working and managing my expectations as a parent and a person. It has documented my journey through tough times and better, and given me the opportunity to philosophise on parenting and society, and what could be done about both, if free will were a genuine possibility.

In that time, my son who precipitated its creation, has gone from being a challenging child to a charming tween, one who has learned to smile, grit his teeth, and take a breath every now and again before losing his shit. I still worry about him – his tendency to hit himself in the head repeatedly when he loses at cards was one such reaction I noted on holiday that  I fear, should he lose something more valuable in the future. But he’ll be okay, and so, by proxy, shall I.
This holiday he decided he wanted to be a model, mainly for the opportunity to ‘get rich quick’ and ‘buy a boat’ – there were a number of supreme specimens in every port we visited – and even without the maternal lens, he certainly has the looks, if not the patience. Together we took a series of pictures in which he demonstrated an aptitude – control of his body, poise, knowledge of facial expressions, that I once feared would always elude him. I duly sent of some snaps in a rush of pride, and red wine and hoped he would forget all about it.

On the other hand, his sister, who was always the “easy one”, avoided photographs with an unerring grimace, had regular tantrums about hair and sun cream and sandals, all of which support the GP’s recent decision to take her for a screening. Whatever it is, this trouble of ours, it’s in the genes. I was told again, shortly before holiday that I can be hard to work with, leaving me fearing for my job in a crowded market of cheap grads, the stress reducing me to basic errors on my last day in the office and resulting in a rash of spots on my face and neck that I spent a week burning off in the sun.

The holiday, therefore, was much needed, and not taken for granted. As usual, I rather collapsed, exhausted, taciturn and supine, for the first few days of sun. But at least I got the chance to have a break. It can be tiresome that the things we need to perform at our best are often denied those most in need. With wifi freely available at the resort, the well-manicured Salina Bay near Port Vecchio, which we got at a much reduced price simply by virtue of the kids having enough inset days to give them an extra whole week off, the stories of refugees continued to trickle down our newsfeeds, and a toddler washed up dead from the very seas in which we paddled, making me feel simultaneously over and under privileged amid the sea of yachts and well-heeled holidaymakers, and felt helpless, and irritable with the kids when they acted spoiled, which of course we parents, in the West, are all under so much pressure to ensure.
  
We are all of us caught in the flotsam and jetsam of circumstance, and, to a degree, at the mercy of chance, and forces out of our control as well as the force of our own endeavours – which is at least the one thing I have got a grip on. Times, they are a changing, and there are things I can do – have already started doing –  to change the tune. By reducing my working hours, I hope to kill two birds with one stone – some of the spoiling will have to cease, and some of the frustrations of long days and a fluctuating workload will dissipate too, though they will no doubt be replaced one way or another, probably with laundry – though hopefully with a more engaging project, should one come my way.

In the meantime, a chance email from my step-sister, a recent graduate and an incomer herself, caught in the wake of our parents’ multinational slipstream, now, grown up, in need of an affordable room, made me realise we could live slightly differently, and perhaps more contentedly, if only we made some small changes along the way. Renting our spare bedroom to my step-sister cheaply would help top up my reduced income, help her get a job in the capital on graduate wages, and give me a bit of help with childcare, as well as forging a better relationships  between family factions and forcing us all into better behaviour at home.

Making small changes, and helping those closest to us, argue Freakonomics’ Steven D. Levitt & Stephen J. Dubner, is of more benefit than making some grandiose gesture and following the herd, an all too frequent human response that can sometimes create bigger problems than it solves. Offering shelter to refugees willy nilly a la Bob Geldolf  currently springs to mind, without assessing the wider, more complex consequences of welcoming multitudes of displaced people into an already straining and straitened society – but surely he has already seen the effects of trying to solve the world’s problems while failing to attend to his own?

I got another email that buoyed me up while I was away, asking me to review the musical Matilda, which we’d all, as a family been hoping to see, but had previously balked at the cost. The performance time offered clashed with both work and school, although I wrote back asking if there was anything that could be done about the matinee tickets, I doubted it would be possible. But when I heard back, I was invited along to a “musical afternoon tea” at The Mercer Hotel, Covent Garden instead, which with my new short hours, I can just about take the kids along to on a weekday. It seems a pleasant way to end two and a half years of sometimes feverish blogging effort, but it does not compensate my family for the hours they have lost me to it.

It seems to me, that questioning the value of what we do, and making changes, for good or bad, means we at least avoid the trap of making the same mistakes over and over again. Of the four coin flips, two out of four outcomes are certainly achievable; the other two may be already out of my hands.

I’m not saying goodbye exactly. I think my itchy fingers might get the better of me for that. But it is, as they say in Corsica, au revoir for now. I know in my heart that I have other things I should be doing with my time, and that perhaps I should give myself the opportunity to discover if there are other things that I want to be doing instead, or that will take me somewhere other than this self-indulgent scrapbook of experience and thoughts has, so far, from getting published in broadsheets, online and overseas, making a stab at writing a book, a number of freebies, and lots of coverage on Mumsnet. In two and a half years since I’ve been writing it, I’ve  had over 75,000 views. It may also have lost me at least one job, and at least one or two friends. I’m sure, Tom, bless him, will breathe a sigh of relief that I will no longer divulge secrets of his anatomy, for all I may no longer get asked to go to the theatre by hopeful PRs. The children, at least, as they get older, may not have to hate me for things I have not gone on to write about, which is perhaps the very best reason of all.

So, thanks for listening, those who have followed me on this journey, through thick and thin; for the feedback, good and bad, inane or judgmental – all were gratefully received; the few opportunities and the myriad chances to cut loose. Until we meet again, as if you’re interested enough, we will, but no doubt by then we will be different people with different challenges, for all we’re always fundamentally the same.