Feelings, Friends and Identity—A place in the world

I've thought a lot about identity over the past year or so. I quit a long term job without having a new one to go to. At my age that is akin to jumping off a bridge into the unknown. For me, it was a brave decision or a reckless one—possibly both, but the truth is I loved the time it afforded me, the mental as well as the physical space. I worried that without routine and structure I would disappear into some sort of emotional abyss—drifting through life, uncertain and without direction. Instead, I started writing again. Trixie Belden fan fiction. There was some in cold storage and I dusted it off, wrote a full-length new piece and countless smaller ones and dived into the online community, completely ignoring the fact that I don't know how to swim. It didn't matter. This fan base is welcoming, supportive and accepting. I felt as if I belonged.

I walked—everyday. Still rising early but sleeping better than I had in years. My friends and family all remarked that I seemed happier, more relaxed— and I was.  I started volunteering at the Neighbourhood Learning Centre where I'd done my placement during a Community Development Course the previous year. Again, I found acceptance and purpose. When this led to a short term role where I could use the skills I'd acquired, I sighed and thought happily: this is the right path for me. My world was unfolding around me in the way I had imagined and anticipated. I felt hopeful.

But reality lurked. Waiting for me with its trusty, overtly practical view of the universe. I am fortunate to own most of my own home, with only a small loan to service, but living these days requires far greater fiscal solidity than I possess.  In some ways I'd thrived on managing without—I like the challenge. The idea that I can do without (without frivolous, extraneous items, to be sure) but still...there was some satisfaction in making my limited funds stretch. I felt capable.

Of course I had support. I have lifelong friends (or as near as one can get) and extended family who are generous and giving. They applauded my decision to walk away from a job that had ceased to offer any sense of satisfaction—even if it were out of step with my overly cautious nature.  Each in their own way they reached out, easing the strain, providing both treats and necessities.  I love them all: Kate, Deb, Claire, Janette, Nicole, Jan. My relationship with my friends has long formed an integral part of my identity. They are without exception: smart, talented, warm, worthy, and they make me feel loved and important.

So, that brings me to the here and now. Necessity brought about a new job—not in the field I'd hoped to work in, not even close. But it's close to home and the people are good. Shouldn't that be enough?
And here I come unstuck. Because it isn't.  How do I reconcile who I want to be with this person who feels as if they are failing on a grand scale? Which in a singularly unimportant life is silly in itself. But I sit here contemplating why feelings hold so much sway. Why my rational self can't be in the driver's seat, and I have no answers. Identity, it seems, is easily lost. Clouded by circumstance and made fragile by thoughts that would be better served by turning outward.  I have a place in the world.  Choices and changes are the only way to shift it.

The future and the past...

Yesterday I went to a wedding. A garden wedding, in the grounds of an historic homestead on Victoria's Mornington peninsula.  The forecast was a little gloomy, confused even—Melbourne is famous for it. The previous day saw temps in the high 30's—scorching, harsh, with winds that remind Australians that they are at the mercy of nature in all its destructive glory. Earlier in the week we had hour after hour of rain and 13 degrees, so anything was possible.
     But I digress, yesterday was perfect. A day, a moment in time that seemed designed to bless the young couple, in their mid 20s, and all that they were commiting to.  A halcyon day—romance novelesque. The ceremony simple and sweet, the bridal party young and pretty, no matching outfits or colours, just attractive young people wearing their Sunday best. It made me, single at 50 odd, as I listened to readings from C.S. Lewis and Shakespeare, believe, at least for a little while, that love can conquer all. Maybe that was just the setting or the shiny beautiful— inside and out— bride, or maybe it wasn't.
    I'm not sure why this is my first blog. I've considered airing some of my thoughts over the past couple of months, but for some reason, this day with all its promise and possiblity is the thing that's put fingers to keyboard. Perhaps because it's less about me and my headspace and more about being in the world. Or maybe it's because before I headed down to the wedding I went to the shops and ran into my 95 year-old former neighbour, who is visiting from Canberra for a few days. I'd organised to have dinner with her and her daughter tonight, but here I was wandering through Eastland and there they were—faces I'd seen for over forty years, but see less often now. Sitting, waiting for coffee as we had done so often before. We hugged and smiled, and her daughter, my friend, and I went off to get coffee of our own, leaving her mother (my surrogate parent in many ways as I lost my mother when I was 22) to spend time with her friend.
  Mrs Mac, as she is affectionately known, is amazing.  She lost her husband almost forty years ago and after that, as sometimes happens, stepped out into the world. Travelling to Europe with her friend, trekking to Canada to visit her other daughter—strong and resilient. But yesterday, I saw for the first time frailty. Obvious, inevitable, and just a little heartbreaking.
   So yesterday with its promise of the future and its glimpse of the past, gently slipping away, is the day I'm writing about. And I'm just glad that yesterday I was me.