At the beginning of the week I was listening to a discussion on the radio about happiness. The interviewer was asking questions such as -which is the happiest nation, what is the most important factor in happiness, are rich people happier than poor people (surely yes, although apparently not…) and so on. I listened with interest because I have been feeling a bit low recently, and was hoping for a miracle cure. Reading Jamaica Inn by Daphne Du Maurier has not helped my mood, as it is so dark and miserable. I am hoping I will start to feel better once I have finished. To counterbalance this, I have also been reading The Little Book of Hygge which has lots of lovely ideas for feeling happier, and was a very thoughtful present from Beccles Bec.
The book talks about the importance of the right sort of light, and I am especially intrigued by the recommended light shades and lamps of Poul Henningsen, a Danish designer whose lighting softens the harshness of electric lighting using layered shades, and which are an essential element in Danish homes. They are beautiful, although slightly out of my price range.
The search for happiness is one of those quests for which there is no single solution. Each of us will have our own personal ideal depending on age, health, background, or circumstances. And making other people happy is harder still, because it’s even more difficult to predict what will satisfy them. Especially if we are their parents.
I had a lovely friend who grew up with very hard-working parents. Her mum worked in a factory and her dad was a driving instructor. They worked SO hard to give her what they had never had. Although she appreciated their efforts, my friend thought it unfair that when she was little she had to go to her mum’s work after school every day, and that when she was older, she became ‘a latchkey kid’; always alone in the house until her parents got home. Dinner was usually out of a tin and served very late. But she had a pony, a piano, private music lessons and went to dance and acting classes. Her parents worked all hours because they believed that they were making her happy. And although she enjoyed the benefits, she felt like she was missing out on a normal family life and was cross that nobody was home when she got in from school. When she married and had a family of her own, she chose not to go out to work, so that she was always available for her children, day and night. Meals were always cooked from fresh and were on the table at the same time every day. But the children didn’t want what she was providing. They thought she was dull and boring because she was always home. They didn’t want the home cooked meals –
‘its not fair, we never have fish and chips/pizza/ takeaway’. And they wanted ponies and music lessons and electric guitars. An impossible and vicious cycle.
Trying to make our kids happy by giving them what we THINK they want is just making life hard for ourselves. All we can do is our best and no matter how hard we try, we will never get it right.
I spent over 20 years being torn between being a teacher and a parent (as many of my friends still are), and of trying to juggle both roles, feeling guilty about having to give more time to one at the expense of the other. I felt awful that I missed so many sports days and assemblies, rarely took them to school or picked them up and was always home late. They couldn’t have friends home for tea during the week and had to go to after school clubs or childminders. And I spent weekends planning and working on the laptop when I should have been doing things with them, constantly feeling tired and grumpy and being snappy with them.
And now that I don’t have to do that any more, I thought that I was finally being the mum I always wanted to be (Last week my eldest daughter T declared me to be ‘a tradwife’! – I’m not, I AM actually a writer!). But now there’s only one child left at home and she doesn’t want to spend any time with me, doesn’t like any of the food I cook, and tells me it’s my fault that she can’t have all the clothes and makeup she wants or eat at Nando’s every night because I don’t currently earn any money. So it seems that what I was doing for many years, was actually the right thing. I don’t believe that for a moment and it certainly didn’t make me happy. And I’m fairly certain that unless it was possible for me to transform myself into Beyonce herself, there is very little that I could do to ever make L happy. I think that has to come from her.
I know that I am very fortunate and actually have very little to make me unhappy. I am no longer a slave to the clock and have no deadlines other than Pop Master or Love Island. It would be great to find an Agent and a publishing deal, but that will hopefully come with hard work.
What makes me happy in my mid century life is not that different from what would have filled my heart with joy aged 16. Then it would have been a Friday night at the King David Pub, dancing with my friends to Northern Soul records, and a good snog at the end of it, pulling the plastic cover off a packet of 20 purple Silk Cut, being part of a big group, sitting in a coffee shop listening to funny friends, the smell of two stroke and riding on the back of a scooter, clinging on tight and leaning into the corners. Not all still appeal – now I’m too frightened that I would fall off a scooter and break these old bones, and hangovers are too severe to make heavy drinking the pleasure it once was. And I quit smoking before I had my family. But I am still at my happiest when I am part of a group, laughing and talking. I can now also find happiness in a good book or TV programme (singing the theme tune to Silent Witness is a joy). And I have discovered other, less passive pleasures too. Running, once I start, brings me a degree of happiness. Being fitter definitely brings me joy. A few years ago I was very sad to find that I could only dance for one song at a time before becoming so out of breath that I needed a sit down between records. But now, I can dance all night, which makes me happier than almost anything.
During the Summer, in the middle of a particularly hard year, my nephew Isaac got married. My family and I had been through some dreadful dark days, from which it felt like we would never recover. But suddenly there was a single ray of light, and on one fantastic day, the family came together for Isaac and his new wife Gemma, and we smiled and laughed and cheered at the loveliest wedding that ever was. We needed that day, to celebrate and be happy. And I danced for hours, more or less non-stop with my kids, and particularly with T, my middle child who dances like a demon and is the person I have been waiting for, my whole life, who just never leaves the dance floor from the moment the music starts until the lights come on. I wish I could have found a friend like her when I was a teenager; nobody ever lived up to my dancing expectations until now. Mr C likes a dance and at the wedding, he joined in between trips to the bar. He is something of a comedic dancer who entertains those around him with funny facial expressions and exaggerated movements and lots of handclapping and high energy in short bursts. Whereas my daughter T doesn’t care who is watching, and just dances for the pure joy of it. And I wish I could be more like her as although I do sometimes get lost in the music, I am also aware of others around me and a little self-conscious.
At another family party last year, with my youngest daughter L, we were dancing together when one of my favourite Northern Soul track started and I danced as I have always danced to that music. I don’t do the spins (dizzy) or the kicks (old bones) but I do get a bit carried away and I really love it. And as I began to dance, L covered her face with her hands, and did a loud horrified whisper
‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!!! STOP MUM, MUM STOP!!! ‘
Before leaving the dance floor. She doesn’t get the joy.
Thank heavens for my eldest daughter T. The first time we danced together, she was 15. Locally there is an outdoor film company, which screens classic movies in lovely locations throughout the Summer months. Her favourite film of all time is Dirty Dancing, and we went to watch it in the courtyard of Boughton House, eating a picnic as the sun went down, and waiting for the film to begin. She loved it, and as the last song came on, I said 'come on, let’s go and dance at the front’, but she wouldn’t. For about 15 seconds and then she said
‘Mum, I REALLY wanna dance’, and I grabbed her hand and we ran to the front of the crowd and danced like wild things. I think that was the moment, when she first realised that sometimes you’ve just got to dance, and she has been doing it ever since. She is not a spectator, and has given me the courage to dance instead of standing and watching. And has shown me that it’s much more fun to be the first on the dance floor.
We went to a Northern Soul Night when she was 16, and she wanted to dance but wasn’t sure how to do it. She just joined me on the dance floor and danced, watching everyone around her with a degree of curiosity. And when we stopped for a drink, a lady came across and spoke to her and tried to show her some moves to copy. I left her because I thought she was OK with it, but then I caught an expression that showed that actually she wasn’t enjoying it at all. I had thought the woman to be a well-intentioned fellow enthusiast, but later I saw some flyers offering dance lessons, which makes me think that there may have been ulterior motives and she was probably trying to drum up a bit of business. So I joined them and said thanks, but she just really wants to enjoy dancing and isn’t that bothered about doing it right (not that there is a right way anyway), and the woman was a bit snippy and tried to tell me what she should be doing. I told her that T was reared on Northern Soul, had listened to it all her life and that I would rather she did it her way and enjoyed it, than worrying about fitting into a box. She got the message and left, and I am so glad that she didn’t ruin dancing for T, which could have so easily happened. My girl is made of stronger stuff and continues to dance like nobody is watching. And she dances in the rain, and is always first onto the dance floor. And what makes me happy is being with her, and sharing experiences with her. And sometimes just sitting and watching Midsommer Murders (of which she never tires).
Don’t confuse happiness with success or achievement. For me, it comes from being with the people I love best, Mr C, our family and friends and dogs, (although not necessarily in that order).
It's in the everyday (although not in the circus and the drama, of which there are many.) The Sunday lunch, or the impromptu pub quiz at the Spinney Hill. Sitting in my den writing, playing board games with my family, or drinking my morning coffee sitting on the caravan steps at Southwold. That’s my happy!
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