I have been thinking a great deal about the meaning of my life.
I know there is no straightforward answer but I have been wondering how I would like to be remembered. What I would hope to pass on…if anything.
No, I am not sick and nor am I having a sudden existential moment, they are just thoughts I’ve had, simmering for a while as I navigate huge changes in my own life. Perhaps my thoughts on mortality stem from the recent imminent threat of a potential nuclear war or maybe it was exacerbated by the expected passing of my Uncle Teddy, making me reflect on death and how we live our lives. It could even be my own advancing age, despite my best efforts to fight it through a commitment to regular vegetable juicing and a sunscreen so high my complexion has taken on a pale grey sheen.
What exactly is the point of it all?
Hypothetical nand relatively unoriginal questions, I can imagine most generic responses would likely be in the form of hopes for future generations; 'That my kids / grandchildren are happy, settled, confident' 'The desire to pass on my business / home / farm to my offspring’s offspring’
Ok, but what if you don’t have any children? What if you aren’t even particularly fond of those belonging to anyone else? What then?
Ashes to ashes and a few months of memories before normal business resumes?
That often used phrase - The circle of life, is that what we are all about? Constantly passing on information, knowledge, tips and money to the incoming lot, helping them realise their hopes and dreams with a lovely soft financial cushion where possible or at least some words of wisdom and often kindness you hope and pray will eventually resonate and then duly be passed on, and on.
I remember talking to my Dad about how people want to be remembered when they die. To me he was the dictionary definition of altruism and graciousness despite humourously correcting me, reassuring me he was, in fact, no angel and was actually capable of being very impatient and inexcusably grumpy at times. His profound humility meant he defied his own personal expectations and is remembered by all as a unique and incredibly kind man, known for his huge heart and gentle benevolence.
Long before acts of kindness became something necessary to share online, or pictured as heart shaped hand clasps demonstrating anti-war or affection - seriously, who invented that? - before inclusivity and acceptance became by-words for hate policies, and those practising them were vilified with the often misquoted Woke label and apparently therefore unwelcome. Way before being ‘kind’ became a metaphorical medal, there was my Dad and those like him, following a gold standard of consideration and thoughtfulness directed towards anyone he came into contact with, and like osmosis I absorbed the way he was, aspiring always to be like him.
That’s some legacy.
I am not even close to being as lovely as my Dad, instead I’m hardwired with veins of caustic sarcasm and a riotous laugh at anything inappropriate although I do try and emulate him where possible. I doubt very much anyone, when the time comes will say ‘Oh she was really kind and lovely, so sweet.’
Naaaaaah, I am not kidding myself, nor am I being unfair to me, just honest. If you read my last blog I’m done with self flagellation, after a lifetime of always looking inwards for the fault I am now unlearning that behaviour, and while I am fiercely loyal and sometimes pretty generous, I am also far choosier about who and where to direct that. With ageing and the ongoing menopause I have far less patience and I can’t be arsed taking on responsibility for the weird choices others make. The idea of chasing someone trying to understand and rationalise the logic behind their behaviour is exhausting and I have no wish to deal with it. I no longer go where I don’t feel a warm welcome and I don’t lose sleep over those who have chosen to cut me off. The radical stoicism of the Let Them theory, regardless of who or where it started, is a powerful one and I believe my Dad would have very much approved of it.
Returning to that meaning of life, a subjective question and one I started…so, what do I think mine is?
Possibly the book I wrote (Hello Flower) because it could be considered useful for some and entertaining for others and I am proud of the copies sold worldwide. All I ever wanted, from the first time I started writing, was to highlight the importance of having and maintaining boundaries, I hoped it might help at least one person, and then I could hold my head up and feel less shame at what I had allowed to happen to me. A teeny tiny righting of the wrongs, that somehow my own miserable experience could ensure a kick up the hole to any budding narcs out there. More than anything I wanted a younger generation (male and female) to know the value of standing up for themselves and not disappear down a deep dark and very negative rabbit hole of eternal people pleasing.
Aside from thinking about handing out copies of my book to sixth form colleges, I try as hard as I can to pass on the same message it took me years to learn.
Last summer I was asked to give extra English lessons to a neighbour’s daughter as she was struggling at school. She is a sweetheart, polite, studious and a total sponge when it comes to learning but had been put off languages by her teacher. Taking the time I showed her that English could be fun and even easy if she didn’t worry too much about what she didn’t know and built on what she did. My mum's legacy to me is my love of cooking and baking and my confidence in the kitchen, I happily showed my young student how to make soda bread, cookies and brownies all while practising conditionals, irregular verbs and reported speech. She passed everything with flying colours.
However this isn’t about her language ability or even her kitchen skills. Over the last year she has gradually confided in me and we have talked endlessly about the importance of learning to say no without fear of repercussions, looking out for your needs with no guilt and generally doing the right thing, even if others try to make you feel bad. I never preach or lecture, no one learns anything that way, especially teenagers, instead it has been subtle advice, sometimes asked for and other times simply dropped into the conversation.
Last week she turned up for the start of her summer lessons, initiated by her because she is keen on maintaining and improving upon the skills already learnt. Already late she ran into my garden and up the steps with a rueful expression, simultaneously apologising and looking irritated and desperate to spill her news.
This exceptional young lady is a workaholic, at almost fifteen years old she is unable to work legally, so she relies on cash in hand jobs where she can find them. Naturally she is routinely exploited; she had already mentioned a babysitting job where she had spent the afternoon on the beach looking after two children of five and three years old, for six euros an hour. Yep, the parents left a (fortunately for them) mature 14 year old in charge of their two children in 30 degree heat and buggered off for the afternoon delighted at their bargain basement nanny.
Another summer job opportunity had come up, the day before our lesson she had gone to work on a trial basis at a restaurant on the beach from 4pm until 11pm. Her duties included sweeping the floors, setting, serving and clearing the tables and washing up dirty dishes and glasses in vinegar as instructed, all alone. Despite this being her first time waitressing she was nonetheless belittled for not carrying in the correct glasses and not given a single break. At 10.55pm they told her the shift was over and she could leave.
Who are they?
The two owners, to use her description; one very overweight guy from Naples sprawled at the till where he hadn’t moved during her entire shift and another man who had ‘managed’ her for the last seven hours. Gathering up her stuff she asked how much they would be paying her. Somewhat perplexed they responded almost laughing at her naivety, ‘Paid? you don’t get paid for a trial’.
At this point while listening I stood up instinctively in outrage and disbelief, trying not to explode on her behalf. She looked at me smiling, this beautiful girl at the start of her working life, already exhausted after one shift at having to negotiate her way with two strange men for a minimum wage she had more than earned - she continued:
‘It’s ok, Martina, I was almost going to leave but I stopped because I was suddenly furious and I just knew inside that this was all wrong, I was also really calm, no tears, no shouting I just said to them both in a really quiet voice 'A trial is definitely a paid shift to see if I am capable. Having spent seven hours working alone without a break, I consider the trial to have been successful and therefore I need to be paid.’
I clapped my hands over my mouth so as not to interrupt her and smiling delightedly she carried on with her story: ‘
The larger Naples guy yelled out to his colleague just pay me off with twenty euros but I shook my head and explained that the rate for my age is 6 euros an hour, ‘You owe me 42 euros and I will not be leaving without it’.
I believe that constitutes a mic drop moment.
I hugged her nearly bursting with pride. They paid her 50 euros that night and she assured them she would be back with the change. I told her that was her tip, she owed them nothing and to never return, then we practically danced around my kitchen. That particular place has a reputation for manipulating teenagers who turn up with zero work experience but motivated by the chance to earn some cash, they leave with nothing after an exhausting shift, intimidated into saying nothing by the two fine examples of overbearing, middle aged ‘masculinity’.
That particular night when engaging the ‘free help’ they hadn’t reckoned on the wilful nature, courage, strength and values of a teenage girl with more backbone than the two combined and a diploma in setting boundaries.
We all have our personalised meaning of life and what we hope we will pass on, she helped me realise what mine is. We never stop learning and while for me at least that lesson has sadly come pretty late in life, I am able to pass it on and watch as it worked its magic for someone else. That’s all I can ask and it is more than good enough for me, and definitely good for her too.
To paraphrase my Uncle Teddy 'No word of a lie'.