Filed under: Australia, Emotion, England, Family, Love, Loyalty, Mum & Dad, Music, My Childhood
Someone recently asked me what I was proud of.
Specifically, what I had done in my life, that had made me proud.
I took a long time thinking about it.
Not because I had to run through a cavalcade of possible answers, but because when I took away the things that made me proud by association rather than personal involvement – like family and friends – there wasn’t a lot left.
After what seemed about an hour, I said 3 things.
That I had got healthy.
That I had managed to have a career.
That I had stayed true to who I was in pretty much all I did and do.
Take away the fact I only got heathy in the last 2 years and maybe that’s not a lot to be proud of for almost 55 years of life. But then, how many things should there be? What are the sort of things that can even be considered?
If the question was, ‘who are YOU proud of’ … I’d be here all week, rattling away names of people directly in my life or in my consciousness. But when it’s about what am I proud of doing … there’s not much.
It made me wonder if this means I’m hard on myself, down on myself or just a bit thick?
I’m sure if I was to ask Jill or my parents, they’d highlight a bunch of things I should be considering. But I must admit, I quite like that there’s not much that springs to mind. Not because I’m a sadist, but hopefully because it means I’m a realist.
You see over the years, I’ve met countless people who told me – with full sincerity – that they ‘knew’ they were going to be rich/successful/famous. And when I’d ask why – or how – they’d just reply with, “I just know”.
I always looked at them with a sense of awe.
I found their confidence of conviction amazing.
Because while I loved the idea that maybe one day, I may be successful at something, I never for once thought it was preordained. Shit like that didn’t happen to kids from Nottingham – oh no. If I wanted to stand a chance of achieving anything – however small – it would need me to graft for it.
And yet I distinctly remember my parents once worrying I didn’t have a good work ethic.
To be fair, I did go through a phase where I liked to stay in my bed. A lot.
On the other hand, I was about 14 years old, so did it really matter?
Well to my parents it did and while they didn’t give me chores around the home, they did have expectations of how I would behave.
That I’d go after the things that were important to me.
That I’d work hard to learn and experience all I could.
That I’d give my all in all I explored.
That I’d chase fulfillment over easy contentment.
The older I get, the more I realise how brilliant they were in how they raised me … because while they placed these expectations on my behaviour, they did it without ever making me feel pressure to ‘achieve’. In fact they were perfectly fine if I failed … the main focus was that I never phoned it in.
To them, laziness was an act of disrespect.
Not just to those who were giving you the opportunity, but to yourself.
I get why that was the case … because they had to work for every little thing they got.
Like, proper work for it.
In every part and period of their life, they faced trials and tribulations … which explains why it was so important to them I went into the things that mattered 100%. And when they sensed I was doing that, they would back me 100% … even if they didn’t really like what I was doing.
It’s why Dad backed me to become a musician, even though he wished I’d become a lawyer. It’s why Mum encouraged me to still move to Australia, even though Dad just had a terrible stroke. It’s why they supported me when I told them I didn’t want to go to university, even though it had been a dream of theirs.
For them, graft was a demonstration of taking something seriously … so maybe that’s another thing I can feel proud of because I never took the opportunities Mum and Dad created or sacrificed for me, for granted. I loved them far too much for that.
Thanks Mum. Thanks Dad.