Decisions, Decisions!

Making decisions is hard. Never quite knowing if what you want to do, is what you should do. Worrying about whether the path you go down is going to be the right one. How will you know? Where is it going to take you? What will the outcome be? Even the smallest of decisions can lead to the most life-altering of results.  

I looked down at the two books in my hands. One billed itself as a ‘lifestyle manual.’ It promised to change the way I organised my self, make my mornings more productive, make my afternoons free for my own activities, give me my evenings back so I could spend time with my husband (I snorted - chance would be a fine thing) and kids. Currently, my only kid was my little fur baby. A Shitzu who was my best friend, my companion in the evenings when I was scarfing down take away pizza (usually with at least one glass of wine,) and trying to plan and sort lessons for the next day. She was the warmth I cuddled when I went to bed and, quite often, my morning alarm clock. She was always there when I stumbled in the door early on a Saturday and Sunday morning, having drunk far too much to try and block out the frustrations of the week in bars and nightclubs, and she sat quietly by while I threw up, fell asleep in my clothes and woke up reeking of stale sweat and alcohol. She even reserved judgement when my stumbling-in was followed by an equally drunk man I had picked up somewhere along the way. She would slink to her bed while I had a, usually unsatisfactory, fumble, and remain there until he left, sometimes quickly, sometimes the following morning. She never judged me though, regardless. One night stands had become the norm, and they rarely led to a second date. Those that made it to a second date were scared off by my chaotic lifestyle and definitely didn’t try for a third.

The other book was more esoteric. Instead of giving a clear plan, a set of steps which, if I followed them, were sure to provide me with a perfect life. It made suggestions around mindfulness, slower living, a change of mindset rather than series of steps to follow religiously. A more holistic life view! I wondered whether I would be able to live a slower life. Could I be mindful of what I ate, or the way my words sounded to others, of my breath and my intentions? I knew I had a deep rooted fear of anything my Mum would deem ‘Hippy’ and ‘New Age.’

My dad once explained to me about my Mum’s one teenage rebellion. Toward the end of the sixties, as an impressionable teenager, she had argued with her parents, stormed out and moved into a hippy commune in a squat in South London. Ideologically, the commune had been peaceful, sharing love, and living in harmony. The real experience had been vegan due to the lack of money to buy any meat or dairy, meaning an overwhelming mess of tasteless mush - lentils, onions, beans and featured highly. As a squat, there was no rent to pay, no power, no running water. Sharing love had meant that the male members of the commune, who had outnumbered the female members by quite a few, had expected to have sex with her whenever they felt like it. She had felt used and disgusted from the first day.  

Downstairs had been a den for the dropouts of London, they often drank, smoked, took drugs. They lived close to some of the worst areas of deprivation and many people were ill. Mum had been horrified by the living conditions she saw, thinking that slums had died out with Queen Victoria. She had seen her first dead body at age 18. It was a real shock to her middle class system and she had fled home a sadder and wiser person.

All of this had led to her declaring anything that could possibly be associated with this time in her life as evil. Hummus, avocado and couscous; crystals, tarot cards and incense were all in their turn demonised and banned. As a good child, being brought up in a cocoon of middle class surburbia, I took these beliefs to heart. They became ingrained in me. I knew what to avoid and even in my teenage years I shied away from patchouli oil and ouija boards, However, I still smoked too much - I grimaced at the thought, I would love a cigarette now but they had been the first thing to go. I knew I drank too much, I made terrible decisions and I knew I needed to make big changes in my life. These were my own versions of teen rebellion. But at the advanced age of 35 I needed to grow out of my teenage rebellion and assume the mantle of responsible adulthood.  

I looked between the two books again, helpless in the face of such a decision. I knew this was it. I had to make changes and I had to make them now! This decision was going to be the first good one I had made in a while. I put my hand over my belly, protecting the tiny life that was growing inside. An outcome of a bad decision, I knew hat all my decisions from here on affected more than just me, and they had to be good ones.  

With a new sense of determination I put down ’10 steps to organising your life’ and, holding tight to the final copy of ‘Living Mindfully’ that was left in the store, I almost ran to the cash desk. I was sureties was the right book for me. This was going to help. The man behind the checkout smiled a me as he bagged my book. “Great choice,’ he said. “I read it and I really think it changed my life!’