Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien
Okay, maybe things that I've done in my life that COULD be seen as regrets but actually turned out just fine in the long run.
Last weekend, I went for a walk with my friend Florencia around the York Open Studios where creatives (156 of them) all around the City open their doors, homes and studios to the (rather nosy) public for a few weekends in April. There is not a lot more inspiring than seeing creative people in their own spaces. One of the artists we visited was Carol Douglas who started painting in her mid sixties after completing an art foundation course - she now exhibits in London and York and has a solo show coming at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. And Kate Semple who was a freelance illustrator, taking night classes in ceramics until lockdown - she’s now a super successful full time ceramicist. I loved hearing these stories and meeting people who have grabbed life with both hands, elevating their lives with new careers, just because they COULD.
Anyway, I was super inspired and it made me think about my own life and whether I would have done anything differently, whether there is anything that I regret not having done or anything that I regret that I did. There are the little things, of course. The time I left Buddy at the school gates after forgetting that I’d taken him with me and driving 20 minutes home. And the time that I sent Buddy out for a wee and he found a hole in the fence and ended up 35 miles away in Driffield after being picked up by a passing car (yes, this seems to be a theme). Falling over on the dance floor at a party after too much Prosecco and having to go to A&E with a ruptured artery above my eye ranks high on my Things I Would Like To Never Think Of Again list (my most long term followers will recall this incident which still haunts me to this day). Or the time that my husband poured too big gins at a party when I had to do an outdoor dining set up for The White Company the next day and I ended up lying on the decking throwing up on to the lawn, rattan table mats and hurricane lamps discarded beside me. And, of course, the fact that nowadays, I look at my phone more than I look at books. Sigh.
So what DO I really regret in my 53 years on this planet to date? I started writing them down and then I realised that actually, everything that we do in our lives forms what happens further down the line, even like it feels like the wrong thing at the time. Here are my regrets that aren’t actually regrets.
Buying A New Build Instead Of A Project
Joe and I met in 1999 and within a year or two had set our sights on buying our first home (you can read my post about our climb up the ladder here). At the time, the most important focus of our life together was going on holiday as much as possible and eating takeaways but we knew that we were approaching 30 and needed to try and get on the property ladder. We were living in a new rented flat on the old Reading Football Club ground which suited our entirely self focused lifestyle to perfection. Back then, the average house price here in the UK was £90k (fast forward 20 years and it had trebled to £297k, although interesting to note that the average salary back then was £17k and in 2019, only £30k - it’s no wonder no one can afford to buy a house) and the only real route to buy was via the local paper.
Joe’s family lived in Caversham which was the other side of Reading and we found a three bedroomed semi detached 20’s house that needed some work for £150k. Nice mature garden, needed the kitchen sorted, new bathroom, all that kind of thing. Easy walk to the village. But we were torn - we could also buy a brand new three bedroom Barrett Home on the same estate on which we rented for the same price - low maintenance, no stress, gleamingly non demanding. If we bought this, we could continue to spend our weekends in selfish pursuits such as going to the pub and on mini breaks rather than in B&Q.
So we went for the new build. We ditched the longer term option that needed some love and in doing so, sacrificed a property that would have zoomed up in value had we invested some time, money and effort in it. But although it was the one buy for which I felt twinges of regret, there wasn’t a moment that we didn’t love living in it’s shiny new walls. We had long dinner parties that lasted until the morning with our similarly life positioned neighbours, we lay in bed almost all day sometimes with no reason to get out; we holidayed a lot, ate a lot, drunk a lot, smoked a lot and did absolutely no DIY except slap some paint on the walls. Badly. But GOD, it was fun. We stayed there two years before having Ella and finally moving to Caversham. Note: the new build is now worth £340k - in comparison, the Caversham semi is now worth almost £700k. FFS.
Marrying The Wrong Man
I was never one for a short term relationship. Much to my parents horror, I decided to get engaged on my 18th birthday to my then boyfriend (they bravely soldiered through it, meeting his parents and presenting me with a set of six champagne glasses in ‘celebration’). But unfortunately, it was not to be. Eager to work in London, I accepted a job in the Personnel Department of a Mayfair Hotel, cast aside the engagement ring (although I held on to the champagne glasses) and proceeded to have an affair with my boss, the Personnel Manager. Sigh. He was eight years older than me, had two children, the gift of the gab and bore more than a slight resemblance to a young David Cassidy. My parents were, of course, delighted. Every parents dream, in fact, for their 19 year old daughter (insert wide eyed emoji here).
Within the year, we had moved into together and within five, we were married. It was not the greatest of marriages. In fact, it was pretty horrific for 90% of the time. He wasn’t very kind. I took antidepressants for most of it. After I finally left him, I discovered that he had been seeing someone else for years. This revelation should have been devastating, but, in fact, I was actually just happy and grateful that I had had the foresight (albeit too many years down the line) to finally remove myself from the situation and live a better life. I have very little memory of that period of my life (I think that when you are unhappy, your brain blocks it out to try and save you future stress) but the impact of the misery has only made me more aware of the importance of my own and my family’s happiness. It would have been very easy to allow this experience to tarnish me; to feel that I wasted ten years, to feel angry, bitter, stupid even for staying so long. But I don’t. I am happy every single day that I gave myself a second chance.
And what I certainly don’t regret is being the youngest stepmother in world history at the time to his two daughters, who are now in their 30’s and absolutely amazing. Ella loves them like sisters and we still meet up regularly, the best bonus to what was a huge life mistake. The choices we make in life dictate our future and our lives wouldn’t be the same without them in it.
Avoiding After School Clubs
I have never been on the ball when it comes to signing my kids up to anything. Not even NEAR the ball, in fact. Despite having a full Brownies and Guides childhood myself, I had no idea that where we lived, joining the waiting list was a competitive sport in itself and failed dismally with Ella. Brown Owl laughed in my face when I tried to get her in the month before. Ditto with the boys. There were no Beavers in our house, no Cubs or Scouts. My children’s after school clubs very much revolved around me meeting up with similarly placed parent friends so that the children could play in another room and we could drink wine in order to get us through the absolute hellish slog that was having small kids. I didn’t want to drive my children around to classes every night or, worse, at the WEEKEND. Selfish? Perhaps, but Joe worked long hours and when we had free time, we wanted to spend it as a family.
Swimming was the worst. Not one of my children enjoyed swimming lessons and really, who can blame them? If I shut my eyes, I can still remember the cloying waves of chlorine in the public changing rooms, the drama of pulling on the rubber swimming hats, the threat of verrucas with every bare footed step. Forcing them, squealing, to wash their hair afterwards and then trying to pull on their H&M leggings when their legs were still wet. Urgh. The boys were the worst, simply refusing point blank to get in the pool whilst I sat in the spectators seats watching the instructor trying to coerce them in. I will never forget Leo, aged 4, standing in the corner in a pair of Thomas The Tank Engine trunks screaming ‘NOOOOO’ whilst the rest of the class looked at him askance. Oh, the shame. Eventually, I decided that as long as their swimming skills were sufficient that they could survive if thrown off a boat into the sea with no lifebelt, then that was good enough. We didn’t need to aim for Olympic standard.
So did the dearth of after school group activity in my children’s lives have long lasting impact? Did my lack of pushiness towards the traditional middle class parenting goals of ballet, gymnastics, drama and dance mean that they developed a lack of interest in team sport or activities? No. The boys made their own decisions as to what they enjoyed (football, football and more football) with no cajoling from me. Ella plays netball and has just signed up to the Manchester Marathon for next year. And rest assured, they could all swim to safety should they be onboard a capsized vessel. Job done and no regrets at all.
Spending All Our Cash On Holidays
Joe and I have always enjoyed a holiday. In fact, we have spent the last 25 years since we met going on as many holidays as we possibly can. These have all, without exception, been sunshine holidays. I have no interest in being cold, none whatsoever. I have skied once, when 16 on the school trip to Lake Garda, was both appalled and traumatised by the cold and have never been since (although I did enjoy the apri ski and the Snowballs). Yes, yes, I know that people love it. But it’s not for me, or my family, all of whom have inherited my love of heat, the sea and, if available, a nice buffet breakfast.
Every year, we have prioritised the holidays over all else. Even when the kids were younger and only one of us worked, we would put money aside every month, even if it meant we cut back in other areas. We would rather have had the anticipation of a week in Spain than go out for dinner. We didn’t - and don’t - save for anything else; going away for a break is always absolutely top of our priority list. Firstly, because when else can you gather all your family in one place and play Uno? But mostly, because we wanted our children to see the world, to know that there was more out there than the town or City in which we were living. We wanted them to know that there were opportunities outside of their comfort zone; that the world really WAS their oyster. Holidays have always been there even when times were tough; when I was diagnosed with cancer and was waiting for the results, we took the kids out of school and flew to Egypt for a week. It was easier to rationalise what was happening to us when we were away from the norm.
So do we regret spending all our free cash on flying away? Do we wish we had spent the money on something more sensible and long term instead of chucking it all at Booking.com? Our children are now 22, 20 and 14 - mostly old enough now, you might say, to go on their own holidays without us. But they’re still coming with us twice this year. Partly, I would say, because it’s a free holiday to add to the ones that they’ve already booked with their friends (obvs, ha). But mostly because we LOVE going on holiday together; our best memories as a family have been made having this time away, non distracted by anything else that is going on. And it makes me so happy that they still like to be with us, even though they now cost twice as much and get annoyed that we don’t want to stay up as late as they do drinking Flaming Sambucas. Ha. So no, we don’t regret it one bit.
And Finally, Being A Transient Friend
I have said before that I have never really been a girls girl. I have never had that urge to have lots of friends; I have no problem with my own company and even as a child was not the ‘best friend’ type. The worst possible all women together situation occurred during a hen night organised for me by my work colleagues when I got married for the first time. Hen nights are, quite literally, my worst nightmare (it doesn’t help that I live in York which is hen party central and I can’t even walk to the hairdressers without bumping into at least three of them). My ill fated forthcoming marriage was marked by the arrival of a black bin bag at my desk, covered in stuck on wooden spoons, rolling pins and a selection of other items I have blocked from my mind, fresh for me to wear to Harrys Bar in Mayfair which is where the gathering was taking place. Those of you who remember Harrys Bar will know that it wasn’t the place for a women covered in sellotaped Durex to be hanging out. I steadfastly refused to wear it and as a result, no one spoke to me for the duration of the night or, indeed, for a week after.
Anyway, I digress. I have lived in many places in my life and have gathered many lovely friends, met many lovely people, but I always fall down when it comes to maintenance. I am terrible at following up. Out of sight, out of mind. I enjoy seeing people and spending time with them, but fail to keep the momentum going. I have always been like this. We move, friends move and the immediacy of the friendship dissipates. It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to see them or speak to them; I do. But there are long periods - sometimes years - when time passes and I haven’t spoken to them. I think that you are either someone who is offended by this, who NEEDS the contact, or you are not. My longest serving friends are the ones that are equally happy to accept this rather wobbly situation as it works for them too.
I read a post this morning written by
about a friend she met later on in life who was ill and how they clicked immediately, expressing her disappointment that she didn’t get to spend more time with her. I have found that the older I get, the smaller my friend group becomes but I have no regrets about this fact - the friends that I DO have are the ones that I ‘click’ with. In fact, as you read this, Joe and I will be in Crete with a group of friends that we have known for over 15 years - we don’t see them very often, but when we do, it’s like we’ve never been apart. Less, my friends, can sometimes be more.Thanks so much for reading what I write. As always, HUGELY appreciative that you are here - if you have enjoyed, then please do subscribe and share!
Quick Note: This is a free post for subscribers but you can also become a PAID SUBSCRIBER to receive four free posts a month but also a minimum of four EXTRA posts a month (including a weekly Design Dilemmas) plus Chat threads so you can join our blossoming community and exclusive discount codes which are just for you. Plus, for a limited time, if you take an ANNUAL subscription then you will receive a FREE copy of my book, Resourceful Living, via the joy of Royal Mail. I would thoroughly recommend it.
Loved reading this Lisa, it made me feel good about my own decisions, and I’m so in agreement about holidays, hope your having a lovely one right now xxx
As always, I thoroughly enjoyed reading this. It’s honest and, as such, is uplifting and inspiring. You have such a gift for writing.