Life’s disappointments (Part 1)
I was going to publish this as one post, but it ended up being quite long, so I decided to split it into two parts to make it easier to absorb. But please don’t be depressed: I really only have four major disappointments – interspersed among countless minor ones – in the 50 years I’ve been on this planet. It’s just that I have a lot to say about each of the four biggies…
I posted recently that I haven’t had too many regrets in life. They amount to about three:
- not marrying the rich, lovely, delicious Penola farmer I was seeing when I was 19. I broke up with him because my mother made my life hell while I was dating him due to her own self-loathing, petty jealousy and need for control;
- not traipsing round the globe in my 20s having affairs with exotic men, and working in exotic locations like London or New York or Paris. Or Saigon or Calcutta or Shanghai, and benefiting from those invaluable life skills that only travel can teach you like keeping cool in a crisis, dealing with sociopaths and seeing wonderful, breathtaking, amazing, crazy, heartbreaking things;
- that I didn’t find a significant other to have more children with, because I really, really, really liked being a mother, and having been a solo parent once, I wasn’t keen to have more children as a solo parent – I wanted someone to share the journey with.
One of my best ever achievements
I published this post very recently – on January 15 this year, in fact – but seeing as my daughter’s 21st birthday celebration is tonight, I thought I would republish it today. Here’s to you, my wonderful daughter! My daughter is about to turn 21 and I’m in the process of writing a speech to
Survival skills
A couple of weeks ago, I blogged about why I changed my name. Revisiting the past, which I had to do to explain the aforementioned name change, I was hit (no pun intended) with the realisation that I not only survived what can only be described as a toxic childhood, but managed to thrive as
The true story of why I changed my name
Here’s something you wouldn’t know unless you sit near me at work: my surname – Lee – is not my surname. It’s my middle name. I dropped my surname in my mid-thirties in a protest against my family. This is the story of why. My mother has been married and divorced* three times; she left my
A Christmas post
This post was originally published on 12 December 2011. Nothing much has changed except we now do breakfast (I go for a run beforehand) and I have replaced wine with Pimm’s. It’s now a day I look forward to, because I do things I enjoy: run, eat, watch Really Good TV, consume alcohol, all without