This is one of the gripes I have with the way I was parented. Not in a ‘woe is me, I must punish’ kinda way. But in a ‘huh, I see where that went wrong’ kinda way. Don’t get me wrong, my parents are my parents and I will always love them for bringing me up the only way they knew how.
I was brought up to choose my home. Choose my decor. Choose my bedding. Choose where I worked. Choose where I studied. Choose my own laptop. Choose what phone I wanted. Choose my clothes.
I worked hard as a teen in a part time job and learnt quickly how you couldn’t have everything. I chose to spend my money on what I wanted. Granted sometimes I went without decent food in favour of drinks out with friends. I wanted to be out.
I chose to protect myself. I chose to be selfish. I chose things I felt expressed who I really was on the inside. And in some ways, that freedom to choose allowed me to follow my identity and indulge it. But when shit hit the fan and my identity was the thing I was questioning (like many 20 something’s do), I began to see how the choices I’d made had drained me and how much I yearned for connection. I yearned so much that I used the choices I thought I had available to me to make me feel better. They didn’t.
But what about if you can’t choose these things.
I haven’t bought new bedding in years. I can’t spare the money. I technically could. But I’d rather have beer or eat well. Half the equipment in our house doesn’t match, doesn’t go. Functions, but often not how you’d hope. The carpet is fraying. The door handles are buckled. the toilet seat squeaks. The bath needs regrouting. The fabric wardrobe I bought from ikea back when I first moved here, is still the only wardrobe we have. The spare bed is still three mattresses on top of each other.
Yet I’m still happy. It took me to not have these choices at all to find that these choices don’t make you happy. People and friendships make you happy. Communication makes you happy. food on the table, love in your heart and people to care about. That’s what makes me happy.
I no longer have the choice of what to spend my extra cash on. I work enough to support myself around the year. To buy a bit of whatever drug happens to suit my pallet at the time. Bills and rent. Fuel in the car. Interesting food.
Going abroad for a holiday or having a fancy car are past times of a previous life. I need to pay my bills each summer with my savings as well as live. But I don’t need those things I once did. Now that the choice has been taken away, I realise it was a waste of money anyway. All the money I spent last year was worth it much more. I spent money on experience (something I had done before as a youngster) and I don’t regret it. I found some of the most wonderful people and the most wonderful experiences.
If only my parents had prepared me for what it was really like when your choices were limited. I might have learned these lessons years ago, rather than dabbling in the dark on my own bouncing from one thing to the next trying to find something that would protect me and mine. I might have learned to let go a lot sooner and go after what really mattered.
That’s not to say that the things I held so important before, aren’t to some. Just that I was taught to want these things and to value them. When in reality I should have been taught to value friendship and myself. Because things are only what you have the power to buy at the time. These values could have prepared me when choices were limited.
Always be prepared. I suppose the real question, though, is: “for what?”
FaerieFalls 