So, you know, I have only very occasionally indulged in the whole get married and have babies fantasy. Seriously, whenever I think about getting married, its usually fantasizing about (a) how I could work a dual Henry VIII / Hare Krishna theme (although the first part of the theme probably wouldn’t bode well for the longevity of the union); (b) if I could manage to rent out the botanical garden for an awesome midsummer night’s dream kind of affair ; and (c) whether its wrong to have kegs of margaritas. So basically the whole thing is an excuse for me to have a totally over the top party. I kind of figure that if a person comes along who I should marry I will kind of just know, and it will happen effortlessly, so there's no point wasting precious brain space figuring out how that will come to be.
Anyhoo. So I went to an engagement party on the weekend of a particularly lovely couple. The young lass has been hankering for the guy to propose for some time now, in fact it had got to the point where if he didn't propose he would pretty much look like a massive cunt. She is such a sweet thing, in fact, in that old fashioned way she would be the perfect wife. And I don’t mean that as a put down, either. And all her friends are the same, married young, bub on the hip, first house bought, blowdried hair. The party was delightful - we were out on a lawn by the water, I was standing under the marquee. And everywhere I looked there were these beautiful girls my own age, long flowing dresses, sparkly rings on their fingers, snotty yet adorable brat tugging on their hems. And then I looked at their husbands: portly, beer swilling, lovely yet totally disengaged and disinterested. And then I looked at their mothers; beautiful, kind women, nervously flapping over dips.
I know I have no right to judge. I'm absolutely certain they are all very happy. But still, I was overcome by this kind of horror: you beautiful, precious, shining things! Why on earth have you signed up for a life of this? THIS CANNOT BE IT.
And I know, sure as anything, that this kind of dream is not mine. I do not want bbqs on a Sunday. I do not want maxi dresses. I do not want diamond solitaires. I do not want holidays in Bali with our friends, peppered with spa visits and shopping. I do not want Saturday sport.
God, I do want a partner and I do want kids at some point but I would rather die than live this nouveau suburban nightmare. And I sometimes feel like there is something wrong with me because I do not want this.
************
But in other news, after all the shit that has gone down of late, after being angry and scared and sad, I have decided (drum roll please)....
I am going back to Uni.
I am going to do my Master of Teaching, my teaching methods will be Secondary School English and School Counselling.
I am going to be hideously poor. I cannot afford this. But I do not care. I cannot afford, for the sake of my sanity, to NOT do this.
Hey, I'd love to work on the boats. I'd probably have heaps of fun and make lots of money. But again, I'd be putting off chasing my dream. Like I have all these past few years, hiding away in corporate land and my moderate successes. And why?
Because I'm scared.
Scared because I was always told I was going to be something great, and I don't always think I am as good as some people believe.
Scared because when they find that out, that I won't be special anymore.
Scared because I might not want what I've always wanted once I get it.
But fuck being scared. I'm going to do it anyway. I'm already a failure by compromising myself like this. So what if I can't do it, or if I don't like it. I've gotta have one decent shot at escaping mediocracy.
