It’s out. The Edinburgh Festival Fringe brochure is out. Now the reality hits that I’m Fest Magazine’s Kid’s Editor and have many pages to fill with exciting content, lots of shows to see and a small army of kiddie reviewers to organise. Let the creation of multiple spreadsheets commence. Squeeee!
Some days when you’re a grown up you wake up and wonder just how you ended up as a grown up; having to wear a watch so you’re not (too) late, having a proper job with a gigantic mortgage and the keys to an actual grown up house.
How come no-one’s caught up with me yet? Surely someone knows that I’m not an actual grown up, surely there’s a group of clever people sitting up there on clouds wearing white robes like in Superman or Clash of the Titans watching me through a shimmery glass ball and nodding their heads knowingly. ‘Oh yes, we’ve been watching this one for quite some time now.’
I feel a bit of a fraud when you ask me what my actual job is, what I do all day when I’m not here. You’ve sat at my desk, swizzled on my chair, visited the gigantic head office with Starbucks and free chocolate for cute kids like yourselves – you know it exists – but I struggle to understand what I do, let alone explain it to little people. Because what I do doesn’t really matter. I mean, I don’t save lives, change lives, affect anything of any great importance. I know I don’t do it for the love of it, contrary to your most favourite popstar Jessie J’s top of the pops hit, it’s sadly all about the money.
I’ve been trying to work out for a couple of years now just what it is that I’m looking for. I fill my hours, stuff them full of tasks, researching ideas that come and go, endless lists, thoughts for articles that I never make the time to write, scribbling in my notebook and then not looking at what I’ve written for months, ever sometimes. I have thoughts, business ideas, proposals, I want to do things, try things. From the outside I’d say I look like I’m doing a pretty good job too, I’m a most excellent juggler of jobs.
Maybe it’s a mild life crisis, this nagging searching-for-something-better feeling that just sits on the outside of day to day life lightly tap tap tapping away in the background. I’m happy, yes. The important big parts of my life are fulfilling, yes and I wouldn’t have them any other way.
But it’s the Me part. Me, just Me. I still feel like I need to find the answer to the question ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’
I suspect that few people have it truly sussed. We all assume that everyone else has it all sorted, that it’s only us that feels like a pretend grown up, maybe there’s comfort in that.
Damn the radio. It told me something last week that I’ve not been able to shake, it made me feel old. Michael Jackson’s* BAD was released 25 years ago.
20.
5.
Years.
*He was a musician. Go Google** him but concentrate on the music, avoid any monkey, children or oxygen tent chat.
** That was THE search engine of my day
“How do mermaids wee?”
Weeks later and I’m still pondering.
Sunshine equals paddling pools and grassy feet.
