I’m a slightly weird person. Maybe not the best way to start this post but its true. I don’t know if it’s because I grew up without much fatherly influence but I was never a pretty girly girl as a small child and I wasn’t a tomboy either. Ribbons and trimmings and beautiful dresses were fine for special occasions but I never hankered over shoes and makeup and hair accessories the way my 8-year-old daughter does. For part of my childhood my brother lived with us so I suppose this exposed me to boy things like jumping off swings at a great height and climbing trees but I could take or leave them.
So I don’t feel I fit a perfect category as a child. I was a mixture of neurosis and a loner to an extent. I had friends (still have the same ones now) but I wasn’t popular at school. As time went on I learnt to hide my awkwardness behind the conventional expectations of others. I became more interested in how I looked and what music was in vogue and made an effort but always if I’m honest, felt an outsider even with my close friends because they just seemed to be so confident and to know how life worked without having to try.
Before you feel too sorry for me, I wasn’t unhappy, not really, although I missed my dad and envied my friends who always had a house full of people. Instead I buried myself in books and used them as my means of escape.
It’s a funny thing that even when you get to an outwardly respectable age (42 in my case) you can still feel so young and so unsure. I wish for my children’s sake I had learned to plan better. Instead we have flown by the seat of our pants sometimes but it’s usually worked out.
The one constant in my life through all my childish daydreams to now has been my desire to write. I do worry though that I’m not good enough. I seem to be one of those people who are ok at a few things but don’t excel at any. But anyway its still my dream , to go into a bookstore and see the bestselling chart and for there to be a book on display with my name as the author. What is the point in dreaming small hey?
As a small child I nagged my mother to let me go to ballet classes. I had a book at home about Anna Pavlova and it inspired me. I wanted to don my tutu, put my hair up in a bun, and whirl around to my heart’s delight. My ballet book also had all the initial ballet positions and I would practice them fervently. For quite a while I walked around on tiptoe to try to get my feet ready for pointe work. Looking back over my brush with ballet it must have only been a few months before boredom set in. We had an old lady as our teacher, Mrs.Bradley, and she would play the same music every week and we would practice a milkmaid dance that I never went on to perform.
After this phase, when I grew up to teenage status I wanted to be a pop singer. It was the early 80s and Capital FM was my choice of radio station. I went to bed every night with my Walkman plugged in, headphones on, dreaming of my own illustrious career. My friends and I would record our singing on tape and practice the moves for our music videos. I think it was just fun on their part but I was deadly serious. Until….. it dawned on me that it was too much hard work, my voice was not good enough, and that put paid to that desire.
But an offshoot of that dream was born. This was when the tv series Fame had started on tv. It was about a school of performing arts and I wanted to be one of its students in real life. I decided if I couldn’t sing for a living I’d be an actress instead. I don’t even think I wanted to act. I just wanted to be on the telly. I wanted my 15 mins of fame. Unfortunately I was in education before these kinds of schools were created so that quickly died a death also.
What irks me about all of these dreams is my lack of stickability. I have great desire but it’s not matched with a great work ethic. I want to accomplish much but easily. I want the kudos without the effort. It has always been like this in my life. I don’t know why, the only reason I could guess at is laziness. Yet I am not lazy in other areas.
Now that I’m an adult with my own children and a house to run, my dreams have been placed on the back burner for a while. I don’t really mind. The wonderful thing about being an aspiring writer is you can write anywhere and any time. I don’t have to write a set amount of words or post at all if I don’t wish.
I have been blogging around a month now, roughly 42 posts. I’m still enjoying it mostly. I want to prove to myself I can carry on with it, because if I can write daily blogs, maybe one day I can write that elusive novel.
Sorry for my selfish post and thanks for listening.
Till next time.This is for NaBloPoMo.