Eighteen years ago I dreamed of
travelling around France in a camper van, paying my way by working in bars or
beach cafes. Instead, I was at college in Edinburgh studying to qualify for a
job that I didn't want to do. Like most teenagers I was influenced by the good intentions of adults in my life, who wanted the best for me and who believed that the ‘best’
route was an education. I wasn't strong enough, or good enough at arguing, to
follow my dreams so the camper van idea was parked, never to get out the
driveway.
At the start of each term we’d load up the car and drive from Ayr to
Edinburgh to the Halls of Residence where I lived. We’d stop at Harthill Services where I’d listen to a pep talk intended to motivate me, to help me
appreciate the opportunity I was being given, and to encourage me to knuckle down and just get on with it. The reality was.... I’d feel sick with dread. I lasted one year at college where on
the whole I was desperately unhappy, hated not having a job and earning money, and despite making good friends I felt very isolated. I left and got a job as a hotel receptionist where I embraced the real world and educated myself at the school of life. I
struggle to think of anything I learned in that year at college that helped me get on in life.
In my 20's I
regularly found myself at Harthill Services filling up the car with petrol en
route to Edinburgh. For years the place triggered unhappy memories and a feeling of sadness. It reminded
me of a book I’d read in school, Death of A Salesman by Arthur Miller, because of
all the grey haired men in grey suits, eating sandwiches in their cars on the
way to their next meeting. The daily grind was taking it's toll as they all looked miserable. I never want to be grey haired and asking myself the question...what was I working for? Was it worth it? A steady income is one thing but surely life is for living? The important things in life can't be found in a bank account.
Last Sunday, driving back from
Fife, where I had visited a good friend from those aforementioned college days,
I found myself in the car park of Harthill services. A sanctuary from the snow
and hail storm that had made driving too risky. The sinking feeling the place
usually gives me had finally gone.
I thought about my eighteen year old self and the
person that I have become. I thought about the experiences, good, bad and ugly,
that have shaped my life and the friends I have known since my teenage
years. I thought of how far we have come and what we have achieved, and for the
first time ever, Harthill Services made me smile. I was thinking of the future
not the past.
This blog post has been kicking
around in my head for a while. If you spend Monday morning longing for
5pm on Friday ask yourself this question; What would make me happy? Lots of people
will answer with statements about having responsibilities and mortgages and
bills to pay. I'm not suggesting for a second that you ditch your job and let
your children go hungry. I'm just suggesting that there may be more options
than A or B. You don't need to follow the crowd down the allocated path.
If you really want change then make it less scary by breaking it down into bite sized chunks. Take an evening class, cut down your hours to 4
days a week and with the 5th day gain experience in something that
you are really passionate about. Explore the options and if an opportunity
arises, grab it with both hands. And if an opportunity doesn’t arise? Go out
and find it.
I've always known my own mind, but at eighteen I struggled to find my feet. Now in my 30's I know that standing up for what you believe in, being brave enough to make your own path and following your own dreams, not the dreams of other people, is the best way to find happiness.
Comments welcome.
Comments welcome.
