"... no room for regret
deep down I know
I took the longest road
to get to where
I am meant to be ..."
All my life I’ve been told that I try too hard and, I’ll admit, I used to take that as a compliment. I prided myself on always going the extra mile. I’ve been dependable, hard working and, though I hate to say it, a safe pair of hands. But who wants to be described as a safe pair of hands? It conjures up images of a boring, unimaginative workhorse, who gets the job done but never displays any initiative. At least, that’s my association with it. Is it just me? I suspect not.
When I think back on my working career, I believe that my most successful working relationships were with people who liked to push the boundaries, take risks and bend the rules. Opposites attract, right? We complemented one another. I was always the sensible one, steering a steady ship, keeping things afloat. The one who could do the admin, produce the data, follow the rules and, by so doing, keep my more reckless colleagues on course.
It’s only as I’ve grown older that I’ve learnt to recognise what has driven my behaviour for much of my life. I don’t want to get too deep into self-analysis here, because that’s not what this is about at the end of the day. We all accept, I think, that how we chose to live our lives is deeply rooted in our upbringing, education, experiences, values … you name it, all kinds of stuff will play its part in how we turn out. I’m your textbook middle child to some degree, but there’s also a host of other factors thrown into the mix, that makes me who and what I am.
I’m one of those people who will do it properly, whatever it is. I’m all in. If I needed to write a performance review at work, I did it to the best of my ability. I put time aside, even if it meant eating into my own time; I did the research; wrote a draft and self-edited; I submitted it on time. If I invite friends for dinner, I’ll cook from scratch. If I meet a friend for a chat over coffee, I’ll listen intently. I still iron my clothes; wash my kitchen floor; check my bank account regularly.
Boring, I know, but I can’t help it. It’s who I am and how I choose to show up in this world. And just lately, having listened to the news headlines, offering up a daily diet of scandal and deception, it feels more important than ever to stay true to my values. It’s forced me to question why I feel so let down by public figures from whom I expected better. It’s challenged me to look within, acknowledging and embracing the reasons why I continue to expect so much of myself. It begins with childhood but, at some point, we each take control of our destiny and must own our choices.
I know I haven’t always made life easy for myself. Rarely so. It took me a long time to find my niche, to feel comfortable in my own skin. I know I could’ve made other choices. Couldn’t we all? But I made choices that were right for me, even if that meant I took the longer route to get to where I wanted to be. Half of it was chance, as it is for most of us I think. I had no idea, really, what I wanted to do or be as I left school. I just knew I needed to do it my way and I have.
In a world where everything feels unhinged, I’ll admit that I’m still showing up as a safe pair of hands. It feels necessary, if only to and for myself.
fi wynne writes 