#thirtylessons

There is a question that fills me with dread. The undertone of this question unpicks at how rich your social life is, how fun you are or how much stamina you have. My stomach drops when I’m asked,

‘What are you doing for New Year?’.

As a Scot, there are added complications.

New Year’s Celebrations

There is a presumption that Scots are hardcore at this time of year, so much so that an extra bank holiday is gifted to the nation. Without a doubt, there are those Scots who do party hard. The breath-taking landscape of that wee bit hill and glen, take second place to the whisky waterfalls that are visited in pubs and street parties, to celebrate the bells.

However, there is a deeper reality to this celebration and it can be found in the person of Jackie Bird. Jackie, I would argue, is the essence of popular Scottish culture. So much so, she is crowned with the prestige of hosting new year’s television. If you really want to understand a true Scottish Hogmanay, this may be a good eye opener.

Imagine family, friends and acquaintances stuffed into an over-heated front room, with all the beige-coloured finger food their hearts could desire. Susan from next door will probably pop in with her children, who are commonly known in the area as feral. Susan won’t feel bad about bringing the pram that is commonly mistaken for a land rover.

Conversation will be mostly dry, focussed on work, weather, Christmas, weather, finger food and weather. However, an air of excitement will breed as the special episode of Still Game is aired. Think of it as a drunk, Glaswegian version of Last of the Summer Wine. Granny, who doesn’t drink that much, will be withering away in the corner after necking half a bottle of Advocaat. Everyone is more entertained by Granny.

Now that conversation has dried out, the television will provide entertainment for the rest of the evening. Enter Jackie Bird. Jackie, elegantly hosting from Edinburgh Castle, welcomes the nation what promises to be the best celebration yet. The screen cuts to a man playing the fiddle and some middle-class country folk doing a jig. As Jackie is a crown jewel of the Scottish people, it wouldn’t be right for her glorious red locks to be outside. She has spent at least 40 minutes in make-up sorting out her Hogmanay bob. The outside gigs are for her henchmen & henchwomen.

The henchpeople get to attend all the fun street parties, like in Edinburgh and Glasgow. The lesser henchpeople are sent out the far away lands of Dundee, Aberdeen and the Borders. They get to meet all the drunks, the delusional tourists and other fiddle players.

Just before midnight, Jackie brings the nation’s attention to the bells. She has allowed a special act to sing just before the bells, they will be enthusiastic, badly dressed and marginally out of tune. The fiddlers and the country folk will now be replaced with a piper who will play something of melancholy. This will confuse everyone as they are enthusiastically poised with their drinks in hands to welcome the new year. Someone is holding up Granny’s hand as she’s still not awake.

The countdown begins and anticipation rises.

10, 9, 8… All eye contact is retained towards the television. This is to minimise the who-is-going-to-kiss-who dilemma.

7, 6, 5… Susan tells off her feral children for eating the Peace Lilly in the corner, while someone falls over the Land Rover she awkwardly parked in the corner.

4, 3, 2… Granny eventually wakes up after someone has thrown water over her face, Granny then apologises for wetting herself.

1… Happy New Year! Kisses all round.

Like the sound when someone uses an accordion as a trampoline, the rooms bursts into Auld Lang Syne in a similar tone. As ever, the first verse is sung with gusto and later verses are sung in the style of Still Game. In the hype, numerous people take photos and post them on social media streams, giving the skewed impression that their new year celebration was better.

However, truth be told most people have been under the reign of Jackie that evening and had somewhat similar evenings. This would be a great piece of work for Ipsos MORI to investigate.

Comparison

I have been that person who has looked at, or heard about, other people’s parties or events and felt jealous that their evening was better than mine. I am that person that looks others’ achievements, dress sense, social scenes, physical appearance and think they are better than mine. I am that person who orders dinner with a friend, and then instantly regrets it because what they have ordered looks better. I am that person who looks at my humble achievements and thinks, “these are not enough”. I am also that horrible person that thinks I am better than someone else, and it is probably Susan.

When discussing this with a friend, she said to me I was too easily comparing myself to an excerpt of people’s polished productions. I haven’t seen the dress rehearsals, production meetings or script-writing processes that people have gone through.

In a social media age, it is easier to see others’ polished productions. Within a few clicks, you can see someone who is more #instafit or more creative than you or has cuter, articulate children than you. There is a truth that these are nothing more than filtered snapshots of gloriously mundane lives.

In this lesson, which I am still learning, there is an art of consciously choosing not to compare. The art is to be fully comfortable and content with who I am, how I am made, how I tick. The art is not to unpack each variable, but to celebrate each faculty in where I have been gifted. The art is to be comfortable with you speaking out affirmations and listing your successes, even if you are only saying them to yourself (I do this in the car or the shower…).

I also advise listening to Gloria Gaynor’s I am What I Am.

In practical terms, I choose carefully how I record and mark my own successes and achievements. Instead of reaching for the selfie stick, I may choose to store a keepsake, write something in my diary, thank the people involved privately or take a photo that is just for me. These physical items help me acknowledge and mark successes, and help me return to them when I need reminded. Through this, I can create a gentle rhythm of humility, as opposed to posting sickly humble brags on every media platform available. There are times when I feel completely inadequate and useless. I have learnt two things here, first to tell yourself to get a grip and secondly to have others to tell you to get a grip. In these times, I have learnt to remind myself that I am enough. The act of comparison can silently decay your sense of worth and being. ironically, the person in power to put things into perspective is more often than not is you.

2016 welcomes my 30th year, which is an unwelcome necessity. Over the last few months, friends and family have heard my petitions about this milestone and the theme of responses have been thus:

“30 is not old…"

Yes this is true, if you are older than 30. 50 is old and 60 is even older. 30 is old if you’re currently in your twenties, cycled through the 90’s with Kellogg’s reflectors on your bicycle spokes, remember the school Apple Mac being mysteriously wheeled into the classroom, and were born before the collapse of the Berlin Wall.

“You’ve got the best of your life ahead of you…"

Who are you, Mystic Meg?! Allow me to embrace a mellionalic state and melt into self-loathing just for a fleeting second. It works for Adele.

It is entirely possible that I could have wasted entire periods of my life in unnecessary, pointless engagements and conversations or whittled time away liking other people’s social media posts of their new iron or their children (may I note, who are often in the same position with different clothes - the children, not the irons). Without proper evaluation of this frivolous activity, one could find themselves embracing these empty aspects of life and it would be utterly possible that a large part of my existence is based in finding gratification in others’ new household goods.

These do not sound like the best days.

“You are not your parents, you shouldn’t feel like you should have bought a house and have 4,000 children by now…"

This is a tough one. My generation are the one that missed out on most. Higher education was the carrot to a white-picket fence life. However, the recession kicked in and we were stuck with intelligence and no where to go. No more 100% mortgages, no promised yuppie lifestyle. Just education, debt and regret about not being able to buy a house.  What may be ahead of me here is permanent renting and shared-living in London until I get my free bus pass.

I realise this mostly overly negative, but I am a Scot. However, this year I decided to do a thing (a practice, discipline, ritual - call it what you wish) to think of thirty lessons I have managed to acquire on my time on this planet. I’m writing mostly for me, and it is probably positive psychology in an attempt to pick myself up from self-loathing.

The publication of these thoughts are a risk. There main risk is that it could be seen as self-indulgent: just another schmuck on the internet offering half-baked thoughts, with no basis of authority or expertise. Yes, you’d probably be right but, there is another risk that I am willing to take. It may encourage, offer guidance, or create conversation.

In this year of unwelcoming, I welcome you to join me in my 30th year and to journey with me as I reflect on the lessons have informed and shaped my thinking.