The Fourth Decade

Is there a term to describe an abandoned blog? Perhaps it entered the vernacular a few years ago and has now become obsolete because everyone already knows that the cool kids don’t blog anymore. Even so, it saddens me that my blogging frequency has dwindled from 1 post a week to 1 post a year. It used to be a place in which I could voice my anger and disappointment, trumpet my triumphs and lament my failures. Here, I could write outside of my ‘writer mode’. Some posts were tooled together in seconds, others took a bit more thought.

Today’s post was prompted by a few different things: first, a reader’s email about a specific post which led me here and made me realise that I have blogged only once this year; second, the customary end-of-year review most people do, be it on a blog, on paper or in their heads; and third, the fact that it’s the third anniversary of my 27th birthday next year (yes, I’m turning 30).

With any sort of milestone birthday comes a certain level of self-criticism. As with anyone, my 20s were some of the best and some of the worst years of my life. There was everything from marriage and divorce to disownment and bereavement, one that still echoes almost five years on. This year – despite my name trending on Twitter for all the wrong reasons – has been relatively drama-free. My family has finally found some semblance of balance; my job, though stressful, allows me a living from something I love; and I have managed to tick off most of this year’s ‘to-do’ list (unofficially I’m allowed to leave one item unticked). Learning the new things on my list has been more fun than I had hoped. I’ve always preferred mental-based learning but this year I started horseriding and also learnt to ride a bike (yes, at 29) with the help of a very patient friend.

The prospect of turning 30 is scary. When I was 17, age 27 seemed old but when I got there, I still felt young. Now that I’m on the cusp of my fourth decade, I actually feel old. I don’t know what next year’s list will hold yet, but I think the key is to learn about things that make you feel ignorant and do things that make you feel silly. And in the spirit of this philosophy, here’s me after 40 minutes of feeling very, very silly indeed:

On to the next.

Kia

Snippet

Kia: Is it okay if I run in my North Face or will I get too hot?

Friend: It's fine. Just take it off if you get too sweaty.

Kia: But I don't want to sweat in my North Face!

Friend: What? But that's the whole point.

Kia: No, the whole point is to look like the kind of person who sweats in a North Face!

In Pursuit of Happiness

I should probably be heading to bed but I wanted to write one more entry before the year is out. It's that time of year when people start evaluating their lives and thinking about the year ahead. In 2008, I made a to-do list for the next year to roughly complement my 'life to-do list'. It felt good to cross off all the items (ok, most but let's face it, I was never going to get fit). I made no such list at the end of 2009.

My life had just begun to settle down after the acrimonious breakdown of my marriage. I moved back to East London to be closer to family but things were a little scary for a while. All my money was tied up in the house I left behind – and the ex-husband refused to sell. Eventually I sold my half to him at a 25% loss because I just wanted to move on. I moved into a pretty flat that had a second room for my study, got a new job and published my second book that year. I kinda felt that I owed myself some downtime, hence there were no plans for 2010. The concept of making plans and setting goals made me think about the meaning of happiness and its complete capriciousness.

Humans are forever in pursuit of happiness but it is always transient. No-one is ever in a permanent state of happiness – it comes and goes in fits and starts. You may feel generally content as I did for some of 2009 and most of 2010 but true happiness never lasts. You might have a great job, the perfect partner, a beautiful home and wonderful friends and family, but you can still feel a great degree of unhappiness on a day-to-day basis.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that we should stop worrying if things aren't perfect. That is not to say we shouldn't make plans and have goals, or try to steer the course of our lives, but we should accept that we will never achieve a state of perpetual happiness. A writer friend put it well when he said "when you get there, there is no there there". Having everything you want can feel very similar to when you had a mere fraction.

So, my friends, as another year draws to a close, make your plans and set your goals as I have done below but enjoy happiness when it comes because there's no guarantee that it will visit you again this year or the next, even if you tick off every item on every one of your lists.

2011

Visit two countries I haven't seen (22/04/11)
Complete an intermediate Spanish class (07/07/11)
Learn to ride a bicycle (11/09/11)
Learn to ride a horse (23/10/11)

Start writing the third book (24/12/11)
Go fishing for the first time
Oh, and get fit ;)

Happy New Year. Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose.

Kia

Nightcrawlers

This summer I wrote a column about a new practice I’d like to see implemented across the streets of London. It specified that you shouldn’t approach a lone female stranger on the street after 10.30pm. You don’t ask for her number. You don’t ask her the time. You don’t ask her where the local cash machine is. You don’t ask her anything – apart from maybe where the nearest hospital is because your appendix has burst.

I wrote it after taking the last train home and being followed out of the tube station. To cut a long story short, I first noticed the man on the train platform after he walked past me several times. Later, on the train, I overheard a phone conversation in which he said he would be arriving at his stop in 10 minutes. When he exited the train at my stop instead of his (which was two stops after mine), I straggled so that he would overtake me. He didn’t. He followed me out of the station and walked behind me for a short while. When he saw that I was approaching a taxi rank, he stepped in my path.

“Excuse me, I think–” was all I caught before I sidestepped him and dashed into a taxi. I don’t care if the end of that sentence was “you’ve dropped your winning lottery ticket or “you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen” or “I need some help”, you just don’t follow a woman like that. What would have happened if I wasn’t taking a taxi? Would he have followed me home before saying what he had to say? The episode angered me more than it scared me but it did make me wonder what was going through his head.

I was reminded of the incident by Hannah Pool’s article in today’s Guardian. In it she describes how she faces street harassment on a weekly basis, and makes a case for better prevention and protection measures.

Predictably, several people trivialised her article with comments like “Look at the way young women dress and present themselves… If you set out your stall, you get customers", a sarcastic “You seem like a lot of fun”, a simplistic “A polite no thanks might be the best answer”.

I don’t know if these commenters were being facetious, deliberately obtuse or if they genuinely believe that Hannah is being a ‘spoilsport’ – I’m baffled either way.

I’m the first to admit that certain types of attention can be flattering. A couple of years ago I described it in terms of Class A and Class B men, the former being those who approach you in a polite, sweet and complimentary way, and the latter being the w*nkers who behave threateningly or abusively. I don’t think the two should be confused.

I don’t encounter Class B men anywhere near as often as weekly but when I do, it leaves me deeply angry and disturbed. I still remember my worst encounters even though two of them happened over ten years ago. Frequency is almost moot – the fact that it happens at all justifies Hannah’s article.

I’m not quite sure what can be done about this behavior though. We are told that women need to speak up but at what cost? Do we risk provoking the perpetrators? Do we report the incident to the Police? Do we ignore it and walk away where possible? Websites such as Hollaback UK and ASH's (the UK Anti-Street Harassment Campaign) Harassment Map allow people to share their stories but while this may help us feel better, what tangible change will it effect?

ASH also campaigns for social education via the media, local authorities, schools and the Police. There are several ways to get involved but my favourite is its community art project that aims to highlight the issue of street harassment. It may not change the behavior of Class B men any time soon but it’s a great way to start tackling the issue. Get involved here.

Late Expectations

A female friend recently tweeted the following: ‘Work colleague has just come back fuming from a first date where they went dutch. Should the man always pay?’

I replied with: ‘On first date - yes! The woman should offer but the man should insist.’

A few days later, a male friend tweeted: ‘This morning I learn that an engagement ring should be worth twice the groom’s [monthly] salary. Never been told this before.’

I tweeted that it would have to be at least a carat (a clean well-cut one), that I was a size H and I liked Hearts on Fire in case he wanted to pick me something up too.

I realised that this made me seem much more high-maintenance than I am in ‘real life’, whether you’re talking about my beauty routine, spending habits or expectations in a relationship. As I said in this piece, I use £3 moisturiser from Tesco and would rather spend £400 on a holiday than a Mulberry bag. My 'life to-do list' is relatively non-materialistic, and I have never expected a man to pay for anything other than the first date. This last point, however, has made me wonder if I’m being naive.

I remember how my first ex-boyfriend told me that he was amazed I paid for half our dates throughout our 4-year relationship and that he would have been more than happy to take care of everything. "You can pay for our dinners for the next 4 years," I joked, but seriously I wondered if my feminist principles were somewhat misplaced.

I think singer Mariah Carey summed it up well when asked if it was true that she insisted on paying for half her first marital home (a sprawling mansion) out of principle. "Oh yeah," she said drily. "Quite the silly little girl, I was."

I guess my insistence on paying my way is linked to the Superwoman Complex (i.e. the aggressive fight to prove one’s independence), which makes me a silly little girl rather than an independent young woman.

Perhaps my expectations should be higher. I understand that this is selective feminism (we want equality but, hey, can you pay for dinner?) but if a man wants to pay, then why shouldn’t the woman let him? I know plenty of men that are traditional at heart. They encourage their wives to work but, ultimately, they see it as their responsibility to look after the family financially. I get that. Am I being regressive simply because I get that? Is it okay to expect the man to pay majority of the time or should I continue stamping my feet and crying independence like I have been all my adult life?

I do wonder if this debate is still relevant – whether couples don’t just fall into a natural rhythm anyway – but the polarised reactions to my friend’s original tweet proved that there is still a lot to be figured out.

Snippet

Kia: Is 12.30pm too early? We could meet at Canary Wharf, have lunch at Carluccio's and then walk over to West India Quay for a movie? Buried is on at 2.30pm. The trailer/premise is terrible but it's got good reviews.

Friend: Sure, but it all seems a bit disorganised... Could you put into an Excel doc and email it over to my PA? I'll discuss it with the board and see if it's workable. Have you got any 2009 data that will support this?

Kia: Ok, point taken.

Private Eye

I’m a teensy bit under the weather today so am using that as an excuse to spend (waste) some time on Twitter. I found a link to a really interesting blog entry: Flickr Perversion by Dr Alec Couros (via @labnol and @mathewi). In short, it describes how pictures of Alec’s four year old daughter were ‘favourited’ by a person whose account linked to pages and pages of pictures of semi-clothed pre-teen girls. If you have a look at the screen grabs, you’ll get an idea of what the images were like.

My first reaction was: ‘That’s disgusting’. My second reaction was: ‘What the hell is he doing posting public pictures of his kids online?’ He explains that he is a bit of an idealist, likes to live his life openly and believes in the greater good of people. I wasn’t convinced – but was I being hypocritical?

I never have posted and never will post pictures of my nieces and nephews in public but my personal Facebook page has plenty. I justify this by the fact that I’m not publicly searchable and that I only add people I know.

Right now, I have 170 friend requests. While I’m sure these are from lovely, normal people – some of whom are readers I deeply value – I don’t really know them and I don’t want to give them access to my personal account with or without customised privacy settings. I share a fair amount anyway via this blog and Twitter and my public Facebook page; the personal account is where I can interact with my family and friends without exposing them to the dangers of the ‘Flickr Perversion’ mentioned above. But is that protection strong enough? Should you ever post pictures of your children or any child publicly or privately? Is the parents’ permission enough? What about the child’s right to veto a picture? Do you know if you even own those pictures anymore?

If I’m honest, I think taking a hard-line approach to this isn’t the right way. I’ve had some fantastic times with the kids in my family and I want to share that – but where do the boundaries lie? Should there be some guidelines about this sort of thing or are we swaying into nanny-state area?

Snippet

Little sister: I feel all grown up and responsible. I record delivered that letter.

Kia: Lol. You can call yourself grown up and responsible the day you graduate.

Sis: The day I have a kid Ill call myself responsible – not right now.

Kia: How about the day you learn to use apostrophes?

All Animals Are Equal

A couple of weeks ago, as A-level students began their scramble for the last university places, I read a statistic that made me want to weep: last year, of 80,000 children who were eligible for free school meals (i.e. the very poorest kids in the country), only 45 got to Oxford or Cambridge (less than 0.06%).

I’ve read disheartening statistics before (e.g. that Oxbridge gets over half of its students from the privately educated 7% of the population or that the 70th brightest pupil at Westminster or Eton is as likely to get a place at Oxbridge as the very brightest pupil at a comprehensive) but this statistic in particular just made me want to weep.

I would like to meet those 45 kids and shake their hands and tell them how incredible they are. You see, I was one of the kids who got free school meals; who got vouchers to buy their uniform; who wore a hand-me-down coat for six years running. I never thought of myself as a child who grew up in poverty – I still don’t – but some of the markers indicate that I did. It doesn’t really matter either way because I had a family I loved (for the most part), and I had ambition and smarts.

I’ve banged on about those smarts before but I’ve also admitted my regret in not aiming higher. Say what you want about Oxbridge and its alumni, there’s no denying that few UK universities can compare when it comes to future prospects (I won’t go into more stats but some relevant ones can be found here - pdf).

I’m not one of those bleeding hearts that think every poor kid should get a university education. It’s not for everybody and, as Aditya Chakrabortty explains in this piece, it can actually turn out to be pretty useless. I DO, however, think that there were more than 45 kids in that 80,000 that could have/would have/should have gone to Oxbridge.

These kids are being failed – by teachers, parents and politicians. They’re being failed by the system. We need a way to help the ones with potential. I’ve always believed that intelligence is more to do with nature than nurture. Either way, I don’t think it’s difficult to identify those with the most potential.

Take my nieces and nephews for example. There are 16 of them and I can identify the brightest two very easily (sorry sisters, I’m not saying which ones). I would like to pick out these two and help develop their ability. I know what you’re thinking: it’s unfair on the others and as divisive as the current system. That may be somewhat true but it’s not the majority that I’m heartbroken over; it’s the ones that can really make it but never do. They don’t constitute anywhere near 80,000 I’m sure but, for fuck’s sake, there’s got to be more than 45.

Snippet

*Me and a friend watching David Cameron talk about Raoul Moat*

F: Apparently there's a Facebook page with loads of people supporting him.
Kia: What!? What the hell for?
F: I don't know, they just are.
Kia: It must be fake.
F: But people are using their real names.
Kia: And it's in SUPPORT of him? But why?
F: Because people like gangsters.
Kia: But why do they think that?? Because of the budget?
F: *Long pause* I'm talking about MOAT.
Kia: Oh. Now It makes sense.

('Snippet' idea stolen from Radioshak)