What would you give up?

 

Someone, under circumstances I won’t repeat, said to me ‘I wish I was 20 years younger.’ While heartily agreeing with these sentiments in the spirit in which they were expressed, one real drawback struck me.  Which 20 years would be ditched? For to be 20 years younger would, of necessity, mean 20 years of experiences would have to be lost. Not necessarily 20 consecutive years, but considerably more than the odd ‘bad day’ here and there.

Every one of us is the person we are as a consequence of our past. Change one bit of it and it has an effect on the outcome. The good parts everyone would opt to keep, but the bad parts are equally important. Random chance plays a huge part in who we are.  I am a ‘war baby’, born because my parents both joined the RAF. There is absolutely no way they would have met in normal circumstances. My father died in the Berlin Airlift because he switched duties with another navigator. If he hadn’t my life would have been hugely different. As a single parent, my mother made a decision to send me, and my brother, to boarding school, paid for by the people of Berlin. She chose one in the wilds of Somerset because my uncle had spent some time in the war on a farm in the area. Pure chance, but as a result I had a wonderful childhood in a happy caring environment. This I would definitely not change. Boarding school, private education in general, has a huge effect on one. Smaller classes, and in my case, a very small school, means you lose a lot of the stress of battling for attention in a huge school. You feel you matter. And the values instilled by the wonderful Miss Burridge and Miss Mary are still with me today.

Before I started school at 8 we visited relations in America. While there my mother was offered a chance to relocate to Pennsylvania. She refused, reluctantly I think, because of my grandfather who had been widowed shortly after my father died. If she had stayed, think how different life would have been. I’d have been an American! Would life have been better? Who knows?  But I would be a very different person.

I met my first husband when he tipped a cup of coffee over me in a coffee bar in Stratford upon Avon. It was the early 60’s so a lot of coffee was drunk in these bars! We were both working in hotels, but different ones on different shifts. That meeting was pure chance. The result was three wonderful children (well, wonderful most of the time!) who I would certainly not switch for an extra 20 years. As an aside, we moved to Yorkshire to live and work and my brother took a job there instead of Bristol because we were there. He has been married to his Yorkshire lass for over 30 years.

Okay, my first marriage ended in divorce, but I wouldn’t rather it hadn’t happened. We had some really good times, and I have some very happy memories. No, even not taking the children into account, I wouldn’t wish it hadn’t happened. I then had 8 years as a single parent, and had a ball! I’d married pretty young the first time, before I’d managed to sow many wild oats (except perhaps for 3 months spent in Berlin on a holiday job, organised by the Stiftung Luftbrukendank !) The 8 years on my own, except for the children, more than made up for it. So that 8 years can’t go.

I spent years involved in local politics – fun – and archery – productive! I met my second (and current) husband at the local archery club and we’ve been married 28 years. That time definitely has to stay. Then there are the 10 + years I’ve spent studying with the Open University. The only regret about that is that I was offered a place in the 70’s but turned it down because it was too expensive at the time. I could have found my passion for ancient history, especially the Romans, early enough to do something with it. But if I had so many other things would have been lost. I might never have come back to  Warwickshire when my marriage broke up, so never met my husband. Who knows, it might have been a hugely successful life, but………?

I would love it if the consequences of age weren’t beginning to make themselves felt. You know the sort of thing. The odd ache and pain, the ‘senior moment’. But  taken all in all, it’s a small price to pay for the experiences that have made me the person I am. Not sure what other people think, but I like who I am.