The thing I wish I had known was that it’s much easier to be happy than to be anything else. I spent years feeling as though I had missed something that everyone else was aware of, or that I was the one who was not in on a universally understood secret. I wanted to be popular but didn’t really have much in common with the people I thought I wanted to be friends with. I wanted to be one of the girls that the boys fancied, but I didn’t actually fancy any of those boys. The things I thought I wanted turned out not to be the things I really wanted. I thought life should come to be and invite me to join in rather than realising that if I wanted something I had to go and get it, and nobody would be feeling sorry for me if I decided to stay in at the weekend because nobody had called me rather than just calling someone and asking what they were doing.
I would also have liked to know that I was good at things which could be made into a career – I was so aimless at school, and then for another three years at university, and then for another couple of years before I found a job that I actually enjoy doing and am keen to learn about. Careers advice seemed uncannily tailored to the jobs which I claimed I wanted to do – journalist, child psychologist etc – regardless of the fact that I wasn’t really cut out for any of them. I wish I’d known about jobs other than nurse, teacher and ‘something in an office’, although I can’t complain that there is anything I would change about my life now (although, obviously, pots of money would make things easier and there would be less frustrating days at work).
On a lighter note, I also wish I’d known that a terrible nostalgia would descend as I approach my 30s – had I known how much I would regret it 15 years later, I would never have given away my Ramona Books.
