Mother Writes: Doing something amazing with our days

Friday, 7 December 2012

Doing something amazing with our days

Refugee children arriving in Harwich, 1938

I wish I could remember the name of this person, but I can't. A few weeks ago though, I heard a lady in her mid-seventies talking on the radio about her life and her aspirations for each day. She was an amazing woman - as a Jewish child living in Europe during the second world war, she was on board the kindertransport that brought her to Britain, never to see her parents again. As a result of that ordeal, she says that each day she treats as a gift and never, ever takes her existence for granted, striving to do something amazing with every day that dawns. It's funny, but ever since I heard her words, I've thought about them regularly. How inspiring that she has turned such traumatic events from her past around, reaching out to the world and those around her.

I don't think it matters if our 'amazing act' is something tiny; even if it's a bright smile to somebody who looks miserable - we're all inter-connected one way or another and the ripple effect of that smile could permeate in deeper ways than we'll ever know. Anyway, I know I'm waxing rather lyrical here, but this lady on the radio and her words really got me thinking (oh, I wish I knew who it was so I could quote her at least!). I have led the most comfortable, privileged existence imaginable; I've never had to endure real hardship, hunger, loneliness or deprivation like so many people in this world. And yet sometimes, still, I get trapped in this safe little bubble I live in, in this cosy corner of London and find myself complaining about these 'problems' of everyday life. Really, I have nothing to complain about and everything to be thankful for. At the very least, I can strive to do something amazing with this gift of today.

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Mother Writes...What's it all about?

When I was little, I imagined with the supreme confidence of a child that when I was all grown up, I'd be a celebrated writer. And by grown-up, I probably meant about eighteen. The concept of even reaching the age of thirty, let alone beyond, was off my radar and my seven-year old self shuddered at the ominious thought of not having published at least several novels by that grand old age.

Fast forward to the present. Here I am, age thirty-five, wife to a lovely hubby and mother to three gorgeous children. Now, am I writer? My seven-year old self would hold a very strong opinion on this: No, because I don't have a single published novel to my name. But I'm pleased to say that now I'm all grown-up, I'm also a bit more measured and realistic in my expectations of myself. Don't get me wrong - I love my seven-year old self for believing I could achieve that much but I have, over the years, come to an important conclusion:

If you dance, you are a dancer. If you paint, you are a painter. And if you write, you are a writer.

But we have to actually do it, not just talk about doing it. It's all too easy to procrastinate about our creative endeavours and that's all I ask of myself now: to create; to write. And if I'm lucky enough to get something published (which I'm pleased to say that I have done, in the form of short stories, reviews and articles), well, that's a bonus. And that's what this blog offers: little slices of honesty on my plate of life as mother, wife and creator of words. It's often not easy to juggle all three, particularly dealing with bouts of chronic insomnia. But I have to trust this is all part of the journey, and challenges are what make life interesting.