January, a time of resolutions, navel-gazing, and new beginnings. Also a time of excess, and breaking newly made resolutions and intentions. I started this blog just before Christmas, my intention was to finally do what I have been saying I would do for years-write a blog about growing up, and the trials and tribulations of life in your forties. However, Christmas, being the crazy time of the year that it is, put my plans of writing in this blog on the back burner, and being the serial procrastinator that I am, saw January arrive and be two weeks old before I finally sat down to write. Write what though? Write something of course, but now my mind has gone blank, and all of those amazing ideas I had while running (well probably more a crawl than a walk, and sometimes mainly a walk, but running sounds more impressive) have disappeared into the deepest recesses of my mind.
So I will start from the beginning, and I can work on it from there. Forty seven years old, husband, children, chooks (hens if you don’t live in New Zealand), currently trying to finish my thesis for my Master degree in English. Still trying to figure out what I want to do when I “grow up”. What does growing up even mean? Does it mean having a job, getting married, having children? Nah, I have all of that and at the age of 47, I still don’t feel like I have “grown up”. I still grapple with the fact that yes I live in a beautiful part of the world, I have a loving and patient husband, awesome kids, yet I still haven’t reached that point where I can honestly say that I have grown up. Perhaps when I finally reach my career goal (when I figure out what that is), then I will feel grown up? Perhaps.
Mind you, the whole concept of being a grown up and having your shit together seems to have taken on a whole new meaning thanks to the advent of social media. Now growing up appears to mean you have the perfect life, and that life has to be documented on social media in order for everyone else to see just how perfect it is. From glotos on Facebook, to filtered pictures on Instagram, many people appear to have the most wonderful, perfect lives. This causes us mere mortals, who do not have a six pack or gym body, who don’t have a show house worthy home, to question our own less than instagramable lives. How many of us have looked at these posts and wondered where we have gone wrong? Why don’t we have a photographic gym body or postable five star meals? Well, I am here to reassure you that you are not alone. I too, do not have a six pack which I care to share with a wider audience, and fancy dinners are few and far between, and anyway who gives a rat’s arse what I am having for dinner. If I put my life on Instagram, it would consist of photos of a messy house, puffy eyes in the morning, and a six pack hidden by a good layer of fat, which nobody really wants to see. Reality.
So this blog is about reality, my reality. Sometimes wonderful, other times crappy, laughter, tears, anger, the whole deal. I hope others will be able to relate to it, and agree with me that sometimes life is shit, and things just aren’t going how you want them to, or you just don’t know what life is meant to be doing. It’s ok, you are not alone, if nothing else this honest woman is on a similar roller coaster. Happy New Year!
The Honest Woman's Guide to Growing Up. 