Tag Archives: mental-health

Of course this comes

in various stages – when you go to secondary school or university, when you  pass your driving test, when you get yourself into a first class financial screwup and sort it out yourself.  Or have your first cigarette, expensive, bad for you but lovely.  You have  cigarettes, I have  a rare  YSL or Chanel lipstick because the colours always work for me and I wear them till they are gone.

Growing up  goes on and on,

much longer than you expect if you are open to it and I am.  You  remain so because it is the light in the sky and at least some of the keys to one of the kingdoms.   Not shut cupboards – open doors.

News is a fascinating business because there are so many people involved in discovering,  packaging and bringing forward issues  the rest of us haven’t thought about, don’t know about.“I wasn’t  listening”  Nigel Farage is quoted as saying which sums up both  the  enchantment and the danger of Reform – not listening to anybody  but themselves.      

There are always  stories that appeal to you and those you shove away, not of interest.  There are what we might call “sleepers” – stories that have been around for ages – like the woman who  killed her three children in the US.  This has highlighted the isolation, exhaustion and sheer unwellness of multiple early motherhood ie several children under (say) 9.

What I have yet to read about  is the  husband’s part in all this and how  extraordinarily slowly  social history  changes.  This is the week that one of the most committed American feminists Gloria Steinem

died, the end of a life devoted to a life you could live ie not everybody wants to be married, have a husband and have children.  Hardly new but clearly still new to some.  You and a partner – that’s one thing – but if you are not going to do children well, don’t have them.  Wanting them is not the whole story – it’s why you want them.  I have sat with men and women who have known from their earliest beginnings that they were not wanted.

Growing up means choosing a version of events to which you can commit.   I was brought up to go to work.  It has shaped and fed my life and made me grow up.   I didn’t set out to have one child, it’s the way things worked out.  But I would rather have one with whom I have a relationship of meaning,

still, he 45, me 82 – that’s my growing up, perhaps some of it, and commitment.

Growing up means you can buy all the sleeveless  things you like, I can’t wear them they don’t  become me and I would always rather have  long sleeves rolled up.  Even in my recent stay in hospital I didn’t see a woman in a nightdress that became her.  

I cheered for the tv critic who lambasted  cop shows on tv – choosing is growing up.  I would rather switch off the worst tv programming it has ever been – mindless repeats, cop and game shows – and read a book.  Or do a crossword, Or go for a walk.   Or the clean the kitchen cupboards, anything rather than sit there, glazed, in front of nothing I want to watch.     

Growing up involves facing what there is – not what you wish there was.  Friendship changes as you grow up.  

I have just filed a friend of many years because he can’t do change.  It has to be as it was because (a) that’s what he wants and (b) he can’t hack it any other way.   It had been coming for 2 years.  And it came.   One more step on the pavement to maturation.

There is no final point in growing up, you don’t “pass” as in an exam.  There is a series of markers where you reflect on steps forward.    Growing up doesn’t mean growing old – though that comes to us all.    Growing up is the journey and great quote from Elliott Gould it is always now.   

It’s the word I wish my ex husband hadn’t used on our wedding day because by then (I was  34) I thought I knew there was no always.  Nothing – nothing – is unchangingly forever as  always  suggests. 

You hear people talk about the mountains and the sea – always.  But the mountains and the sea change – often affected by  humans – sometimes not –  but change they do.

Tastes change.  There was a long period in my life when I couldn’t get up without a cup of tea – actually a mug.  I am currently right off tea. 

There were a couple of women of whom I was aware when I was growing up, who had shoulder length hair with a roll at the front and the back, 

flowery dresses in a shape I didn’t recognize, hard red lipstick and  (if they used it)  powder  blue eyeshadow.  She who took no prisoners  (Ma) snorted.  “Still dressing late forties” she said.  “Think they haven’t changed.” 

I asked – of course I did – first of all, because she was my mother and secondly because  she obviously meant it – and from my mother (young as I was) I learned that skin changed colour, that hair changed texture, that what  became you at one age wouldn’t necessarily work at another.

My mother could see and she could think and  she inspired me to  do likewise –even though the evolution of personal taste wasn’t a given and certainly not an always.

For years actors (all sexes) 

were what I concentrated on.  I wasn’t really  interested in sport, heaven knows I was clumsy.  I loved films and later theatre.  Occasionally as time went by, I noticed set design, or through costume the look of the thing but not coherently.  Not for years.  I was seduced by stardom as many of us are.

There was what I learned to call an aesthetic in all this  – I liked a certain way of looking or moving or being – what I came to perceive much later in life as a “line”.   Which became as I grew older a greater perception like being sure that Audrey Hepburn as the lead in War and Peace 

wore the wrong shoes … not that they weren’t pretty,  but historically wrong.   Not  even with a budget of millions was there an always. 

And  as I grew up  (a slower process than I could ever have imagined) I have realized increasingly the importance of the script.

I don’t go to the cinema – I probably stopped when it became less accessible and people talked and ate and used their phones there.      Theatre is  gobsmackingly expensive – I pass.  So what I see is what is on terrestrial television – yes.  I am one of the reliable forkers-out who keep it going.

And if you had told me that I would watch the  English version of Maigret (1960s) with Rupert Davies and Ewen Solon  as respectively Maigret and Lucca

– I would have doubted it.  But I have – with real appreciation because of the shape of the scripts.  Makes you want to stand on a chair and cheer.    I won’t try to sell you on it because what became my Saturday evening always is coming to an end.   Next weekend’s episode it says in the usually reliable tv guide is last in the series.  

I could never have said before either that I had come to believe in the permanence of a tv run, no matter how long, nor that I now knew  that I was deluded – ends come, things pass, other things emerge.

Here is an always:  whenever I write  annalog, I long to be funny and witty and upbeat  or passionately intense and impressively serious.   Neither of which come under always.    I get what I get, and you get it if I can accept I have done my best this week …

The song says “… and I  will always love you.” And there are people from whom my love is an always until I am gone.  I will always  be interested in – yes I could give you a long list which of course changes focus as do I and you and the times we live in.  

I have such respect for that little word always –  it has a kick like a mule.  Makes you think.   Always.