What do I want to be when I grow up?

You’d think I’d have an answer to the question above, as by anyone’s book I’m supposed to be a “grown-up” by now, but the magic on-switch for maturity has yet to kick in with me. I still don’t feel “grown-up”. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to feel like.

I’m not saying that I’m a child-like 34 year old, I’m not quite that pathetic. I’m independent, have a good job, a beautiful cat, a lovely home that I rent in a country far away from the one I started in. I don’t rely on others to look after me the way that a child would. But I still don’t feel grown-up. Maybe it is my incapacity to have a proper relationship, as there is a lot of social pressure to settle down with a partner and start a family. However, it could well be that that isn’t what the future holds for me, it might be, but it might not. People who try to be reassuring by saying “you’ll find the right person eventually” are treading on very thin ice. What proof is there that I will? Why is it such a priority for everyone? Why is the success of my life linked to my marital or relationship status?

I didn’t start this post to go all Bridget Jones (can’t drink Chardonnay for one thing) but have I been so brainwashed by society that I’m going to feel incomplete and un-grown-up until I settle down? I joke about becoming the local mad cat woman (I only have 1 cat in Sydney & I don’t smell of pee, so it is still technically a joke) but why do we still look down on people who are alone? It isn’t just people with partners who feel pity for the terminally single. Other singletons are just as bad. Clearly we are all subject to the same brain-washing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that it is better to be single than in a relationship. A relationship with the right person is amazing, or so I’m led to believe. But we all know people who are in relationships with the wrong person, because they think a bad relationship is better than being alone. I can’t imagine anything worse.

So maybe my status as proper grown-up human will only kick in once I find me a man, buy me a house and start me a family? I doubt it. I think I could do everything on the shopping list of life and still feel like a child, even in my 80s. Maybe it is because sometimes I look at people who act like proper grown-ups and I suspect that it is exactly that: an act. And there is nothing wrong with that. Let’s all stop putting unnecessary pressure on ourselves to conform to an idea that doesn’t exist. The terms grown-up implies an end: that is it; you have grown; there is no more growing to do. What utter bollocks!

Human beings are in a constant state of change. We are always growing, in one way or another. To try and shoe-horn ourselves into a box; to live life as if it is a set menu; that means we aren’t living our own lives at all. We aren’t exploring and designing them for ourselves. We should embrace the fact that we all take different paths. Those that find the right person and have a loving, frustrating, demanding, ultimately rewarding family, are lucky. So is the girl who lives life on her own terms, tasting the flavours that each day presents, unsure if she will ever meet the right person but content in the knowledge that she is experiencing the adventure that is life. She’ll have time to feel like a grown-up on her death bed, when she looks back and realises that she has reached the final moment and her growing has come to an end.

Orbiting Satellites

As an expat living in the land of Far Far Away I seem to have become hyper aware of the relationships I have with the people around me. I no longer have the warm cosy comfort blanket of friends that have been in my life, for better or worse, across many turbulent years. Rather than having a diary full of social arrangements that I need to manage carefully to get the treasure of an entire day “to do nothing”, I could easily succumb to the seductive lure of entire weekends filled with social nothingness (sorry Louis, but cute as you are, you don’t count). The most dangerous thing is that this social invisibility can become addictive, particularly when you work in a people industry like mine. It has made me realise that being sociable is a muscle like any other, which we need to exercise regularly to avoid atrophy.

But what does being sociable really mean? I already have the beginnings of a rather wonderful small (or exclusive if you prefer) circle of friends that are there for me when I try to kick the drug of “me time”. Sadly the drug is frequently stronger than me, as there are endless temptations in my little house, to keep me happily occupied for days on end (books, DVDs, PVR, music and the wonderful comforts of bed). So I decided to keep an eye on myself over the last 7 days to see if I really am as unsociable as I think.

Firstly it is important, for those that don’t know me and my family, that I explain my genetic coding. My mum is the first to make friends with randoms in queues. She has an ability to chat with anyone at the most unexpected moments and put them at their ease. I am definitely my mother’s daughter. As a result, I now realise that if I truly want social seclusion I can’t leave the house! Even the front garden is a danger zone of potential social exchanges. All it takes is for one small child to spot the ginger fluffiness of Louis and next thing I know I’m having a deep conversation about pet ownership and parenthood with the accompanying adult.

So what have I discovered about myself over the last 7 days? While I have a small system of close friends, I have a huge universe of orbiting satellites that make a very real and positive impact on my life. How can a girl feel lonely or socially isolated when there are people and their stories everywhere that she turns? So this blog post is dedicated to these people that make up the village community of my Australian life.

There is my Vietnamese manicurist who is missing her children, particularly Lucy who turned 1 last month and is the cutest little girl you could wish for (I’ve seen the photos). Lucy and her 5 year old brother Ryan (serious looking boy that doesn’t like to be photographed) are currently in Vietnam staying with their grandmother, but they’ll be back in October as their mum is flying all the way to Vietnam for a long weekend to pick them up. I reassure her that the time will fly, but it is clear that she feels the gap they normally fill like a painful physical absence.

There are the lovely ladies that work in the cafe round the corner from my house that know that I just love their Thai Chicken salad of a Saturday lunchtime and who always ask me how Louis is doing and whether he has grown (the answer generally being yes).

There is the girl at the hairdressers that always smiles and asks me how I am. The family who run the Green Grocers who work 7 days a week 52 weeks of the year, but never complain as they love what they do. It really is a family operation with their eldest daughter (early teens) sharing my love of fresh figs.

I mustn’t forget the corner shop, the Japanese take-away and the butchers again all within a block of my house and they’re all ready with a smile and a “hi” when I walk past, or a full conversation if I’m in consumer mode.

That barely skims the surface of the satellites orbiting my life. We haven’t even touched on my work week. The coffee shop near work where the coffee cup lid reads “Steph” not “Soy flat white”, I think that means I have a signature coffee. I find that pretty cool. Or the Korean place I like to go for lunch, where they always give me a sweet as I’m leaving, and if I order the noodle soup with dumplings they know to sneak me in a serving of mushrooms too (all I can say to that is yummy!).

All in all I really can’t be accused of being anti-social. If anything I’m compulsively social, because even if I do lock the front door in an attempt to cut myself off from the world, there is no one there to confiscate my computer. With the wonders of the internet at my finger tips the first thing I do when I get home is switch on my laptop. After feeding Louis I wait impatiently for the computer to fully boot up so that I can check my emails, my facebook and my twitter. Next thing I know, an hour has passed, my tummy is rumbling and I’ve been chatting away with lovely tweets from all around the world.

If any of my friends or family back home are reading this and are worried that I might get lonely on this side of the planet, be reassured. Loneliness just isn’t part of my genetic make-up!