Why it's OK to Not Have Your Shit Together at 20

Monday, 9 April 2018

Why it's OK to Not Have Your Shit Together at 20

"What am I actually doing?" *wipes tears with revision notes.

If you ask any young adult what their primary stress in life is, it’s likely something to do with uncertainty. If you were to boil it down to a sentence, it would be probably be something like: “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”

How many times have you heard someone say that? *How many times have you said that? Probably a lot. If you’re a student this time of year, then you probably say it at least every day (more than likely whilst wiping your sweat/tears with revision notes). The idea that we should 'know' is a pile of socially-crafted-bullshit superimposed on our psyches since forever, and it’s holding us back (I mean, I'm definitely not the same person I was when I was 14 and sitting my GCSEs.)

At least, it feels that way to me. Exactly 2 months today, I turn 20 and I have anything but a plan. It’s scary to say the least. My plan was always to go to university and achieve as much as I could along the way and now that I’m there and finishing up my second year, I think I have hit a bit of a bump. Sure, I got to uni and I’m having a great time and have met the best people, but what’s next?

I just keep telling myself that nobody really knows “what we’re doing with our lives.” We can’t summarize the big picture. We don’t know what we’ll be doing in 5 years, in 10 years, 20! I think pretending that we can predict that isn’t being responsible or ambitious. It’s cutting ourselves off from living according to our inner navigation systems as opposed to the narrative we once thought would be right.

If you’re wondering “what you should do with your life,” it’s likely that you’re in the awkward state of limbo between realizing you don’t want what you once did and giving yourself permission to want what you want now. It’s all well and good having ideas but I honestly think that there is something not quite right with having a plan you feel 100% bound to. Thinking you know what you’re “doing with your life” quells your hunger. It soothes your mind with the illusion that your path is laid out before you, and that you no longer have to choose, which is another way to say, you’re no longer responsible for becoming the person you want and need to be.

It might sound too optimistic, but I have always believed that hard work will get you anywhere. Hunger is important. Complete fulfillment is the track to complacency. We don’t thrive when we’re fulfilled. We stagnate.

What are you doing today? What intrigues you? What would you do right now if you could be anyone you wanted? If social media didn’t exist? What do you want to do this weekend?

These are the types of questions I constantly find myself asking and answering. “What do I want” is a question we need to ask every day. The things that run true will weave through your life, the ones that pop back up again and again are the ones you’ll follow. They’ll become the places you remain, the people you’re drawn to, the choices you make. The core truths will win out, even if other things are lodged beside them.

Listening to it is saying: What do I want right now?

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International Women's Day 2018

Thursday, 8 March 2018

International Women's Day 2018

So I’ve embarked on a little social experiment.

Accessed via www.tesor.com/mt

In honour of International Women’s Day, and feeling empowered in unity and united in empowerment and all that, I’ve tried something a bit different. I’ve decided to respond to every catcall I've 'received' (for want of a better word) over the course of the day (SIDENOTE: THESE ARE UNWANTED; I AM BY NO MEANS BRAGGING.) Because, I’m not going to lie, I have some burning questions and I know a lot of other girls do too!

Immediately, I would just like to point out that I’m not here to take a stand on the “compliment vs harassment” debate. That’s another topic entirely (but I think you can take a good guess as to where I stand.) I’m writing about the questions I have surrounding the issues of catcalling – Why? What are you setting out to achieve? How will you react when I stop and respond?

Let’s get some disclaimers out there too: no-one can accuse me of being a girl who can't take a compliment. Tell me you like my top, my hair, my shoes, and I'll not just thank you kindly but tell you where you can get it for yourself. I also did this in what I would consider very safe scenarios. Like, broad-daylight-main-road-people-everywhere kinda safe – don’t worry Mum, I’m fine.

CC #1 – 10:04 am.

I’m walking to the gym and I am a mess. My flatmates can vouch for it; when I wake up, I’m not pretty, nor am I any more attractive with three-day-old, unwashed hair slicked into a low bun in mismatched socks and gym shorts *sidenote, I have yesterday’s mascara clumped on my lashes. Fit.* My headphones are in and I’m blasting Red Hot Chilli Peppers; I’m not to be disturbed this morning.

As I pass the construction site, I hear a wolf-whistle clear as day and a shout and cackles of laughter. I can’t be too certain, but I know I heard the word “legs.” And as I’m about to shrug it off and ignore it, as per, I take out my ear phones and stop to ask: “Pardon?”

The guys are taken aback. I repeat my question. The silence is deliciously awkward and I’m inwardly jumping around in delight. But I keep my cool; I raise my eyebrows, roll my eyes and continue past the site into the gym. Behind me, the silence is booming louder than any drill or machine. I smile (until I remember that I’m going into a gym and then inwardly scream.)

CC #2 – 13:02 pm

I’m embarking on the strenuous 100 steps to the tube station from my flat, and…yep…more builders (Stepney Green’s gentrification at its finest!) I already know what’s coming.

I saunter past and immediately feel eyes burning, etching onto my skin, my clothes, my hair. It’s all quiet until Mr. Observant shouts out to me, claiming that I look “so sad” and that he knows “what would make pretty-girl happy.”

Well, first of all, I’m not miserable (I’m actually in a pretty good mood) – that’s literally just my face. Lol. Ok. Charming. (RBF problems amirite???)

I was going to let this one slide so I could continue on with my day, until Mr. Observant’s pal Mr. Bright Ideas shouted at me to “smile more.” And that did it for me. I turn round on my heel and, keeping my cool, say: “You do realise that’s so inappropriate, right?”

Mr. Bright Ideas piped up with the old “I’m just trying to brighten up your day.” Oh yeah. That one. Good Samaritan.

It would have been so easy to blow up and, oh my days, I nearly did: “Yeah, well, I don’t need you to. I’m fine.”

"I was...just sayin'..." The man looked chastened.

“Yeah, well don’t.”

And I walked off.

CC #3 – approx. 15:45pm

Walking by Kings Cross after a trip to the library and I bypass a Teenage Dirtbag (well, probably a little older but I like the nickname).

“Mmm, beautiful," he said.

With my previous encounters, I note I lacked conversation. I asked my questions and received no genuine response. This time was slightly different.

I stopped and faced him, looked him levelly in the eyes and told him: "You know, no one likes it when you do that?"

And this guy was genuinely stumped and surprised by my response. "What…huh…really?" he asked.

"Yes," I explained. "No one. It's rude; it makes us feel uncomfortable. I don’t need to hear it right now."

"Well, I wasn't meaning to be rude. I’m sorry" I turned to walk away, and as I walked he said, with what seemed to be genuine kindness: "You are lovely. God bless you."

Retraining myself to stop, listen, and — hardest of all — be brave enough to strike up a conversation with the men we’ve all ignored for so long was no easy task. I wish I could say that I had more concrete answers to the questions I set out to ask these strangers and the information I wanted to find. I learned that for the most part, these men are not looking for a response or expecting you to actually stop and talk to them. I can kind of gage, simply from today’s experiences, that perhaps they don’t really know why they do it.

But I don't regret the fact that I didn't try to make them understand why they shouldn't catcall.

How can you explain to a stranger that a compliment makes us weary? That words like sexy and beautiful sound like threats when we hear them whispered to us on an empty street late at night? That we feel objectified, uncomfortable, kind of scared when you say this to us while we're going about our normal routine in bustling daytime, not outwardly asking for judgement? That this thing you might do for fun is at the expense of our peace of mind?

It’s definitely not a quick word you can have with a stranger on a street corner. It needs to be part of a bigger conversation, earlier on, by the people who are in charge of shaping you into a respectable human. We're being taught as young women not to respond to this kind of attention; why aren’t we teaching young men to avoid this behaviour in the first place. If not, the so-called ‘Cats’ of the world will continue intimidating women for whatever reason, while we keep finding ways to tolerate it.

And we shouldn't have to. No means No.

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Kill 'em With Kindness - or Something Like That.

Friday, 2 March 2018

Kill 'em With Kindness - or Something Like That.

"Nice" is a word with an image problem. It's the forbidden adjective of school English lessons. Say the word out loud and you can’t help saying it with a pathetically sarcastic grimace: Oh yeah, the food was nice. The bar was nice. It was all very nice.

But I'm desperate to reverse the stigma of the word. Really, what's wrong with being "nice?" When did it become so uncool to be kind?

Doing something kind can take as little as seconds, and yet somehow, in fast-paced, do-it-now digitally demanding cultures, our days are so busy busy busy that they require our undivided attention just to remain operational. The exhaustive pace of life means we have to be reminded to leave our desks every hour so our legs don't seize up. We have to be reminded to take a lunch break (or be surgically removed from our monitors.) We have to be reminded to keep our phones away from our beds to promote healthy sleeping habits. Sleeping? Eating? Once-wonted parts of our daily lives get shaved away in competition to work longer, work harder, work better.

I'm not saying that everyone should treat kindness and niceness like the latest fad; it's not like Avocado Toast or a wannabe-hipster-beard. However, I do think that being "nice" needs to have a kind of resurgence.

The need to exercise a kinder mentality has been on my mind for a while now. But, like many others, sometimes I'm just a plain old grump. I'm tired and I'm busy and I don't want to give up my seat on the tube, nor do I want to wait in the freezing cold just to hold the door open for someone dawdling behind.

I think what gets to me is that we actually needed to be reminded of this very human, very normal quality. All you need to do is type into Google: "How to be kind?" and millions of self-help websites and blogs will pop up. Or, you know, walk into an embarrassingly-hipster coffee shop and check out the pink-chalked blackboards.

I recall recently witnessing a heavily pregnant lady, laden with shopping bags, being raced to a seat on the tube on a busy Saturday afternoon. I looked around me to see if anyone was going to get up, whilst said-mentioned pregnant lady grasped the handrail above her head. Everyone studied their phones, newspapers, the tube-line map on the wall, avoiding eye contact. So, of course, I offered her my seat.

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"Thank you so much!" she beamed, "you're so kind."

The compliment made my insides fizz for a few seconds. I'm not saying I deserve a 'Pride of Britain' award for it, but it did make me feel good. And that small thrill is not to be underestimated. I wasn't concertedly choosing to be kind, but the unforced spontaneity - and positive reinforcement - of it all made the difference. I remembered, there and then, that I did have the capacity to be kind. And so if I do (on the moist Central line where it's so easy to be a grump), then shouldn't we all?

I'm all about creating a culture of kindness, especially in a city where people squint at me as if I need shock therapy when I smile at them in the supermarket. Being nice is hardly a task like getting your five-a-day; it ain't that hard. Make it a habit and your own levels of happiness will exponentially increase. And if that's the fulcrum of a harmonious community, then I'm all for giving it a go.

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